' LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. ! 

Chap Z~ 

Shelf ....,.B.3_ AS. 



I" 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



LETTERS OF 

MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF 

THE JOURNAL OF A YOUNG ARTIST. 

Translated by MARY J. SERRANO. 

One octavo volume, with Portrait and Il- 
lustrations, new style of binding, etc. 

Price, $1.50. 

Paper, 50 cents ; Plain Cloth, $1.00; Cheap 

Edition, Paper, without Portrait 

or Illustrations, 25 cents. 



The Right Hon, W. E. Gladstone says in 
The Nineteenth Century: "It may even 
be pronounced a book without a parallel." 



LETTERS OF 

MARIE BASHK1RTSEFF 



TRANSLATED BY 

MARY J. SERRANO 

TRANSLATOR OF "MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF : THE JOURNAL OF A 
YOUNG ARTIST," ETC., ETC. 



WITH PORTRAITS 



JUN 30 1891 
MO/ 



NEW YORK 

CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY 

IO4 & 106 FOURTH AVENUE 



S 



,^3 ft- 



Copyright, 1891, 

EY 

CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY. 
All rights reserved. 



THE LIBRARY I 
J W CONGRESS 



THE MERSHON COMPANY PRESS, 
RAHWAY, N. J. 



TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. 



When a name and a personality be- 
come the theme of discussion in the 
columns of newspapers and magazines, 
on the platforms of debating-societies 
and lecture-halls, in the drawing-room 
and the school-room, not in one coun- 
try or on one continent, but in both 
hemispheres, when this name and this 
personality awaken an interest equally 
keen, equally human, in the breast of 
the learned and sagacious statesman 
and of the simple and unsophisticated 
girl, it is because they are symbolic of 
some idea or of some quality or com- 
bination of qualities of vital and en- 



VI TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. 

during significance to the race. Need 
it be asked what are the qualities that 
are inseparably linked with the name 
and the personality of Marie Bash- 
kirtseff, qualities which have given the 
Journal she has bequeathed to the 
world a celebrity unexampled in the 
literature of recent years ? Do they 
not breathe and burn in her every 
utterance, are they not manifest in 
every stroke made by her artist hand ; 
power and sincerity — power not always 
well-directed, sincerity not always ju- 
diciously exercised, but none the less 
the power that is the condition of all 
great achievement, the sincerity that 
is one with the law that keeps the stars 
in their appointed course. 

Power and sincerity are, too, the 
qualities that most strongly charac- 
terize these Letters of Marie Bashkirt- 



TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. Vll 

seff ; but if, as we read the Journal, we 
think of some brioht-hued bird of 
ethereal lineage, beating its wings, until 
they bleed, in its wild struggle for free- 
dom, against the bars that stay its sky- 
ward flight, reading these Letters we 
think, rather, of the sun-fed juice of the 
grape passing through the process of 
fermentation (here, alas ! not to be 
completed) that is to convert it into 
the precious wine that invigorates and 
rejoices and inspires. As it is, Marie 
Bashkirtseff, fighting against environ- 
ment, fighting against disease, fighting 
against fate, has sent from her passion- 
ately throbbing girl's heart a cry that 
will re-echo through the ages — the cry 
of spirit struggling to cast off the 
bonds of matter ; the cry of Genius pro- 
claiming, in its bonds, its right to stand 
among the gods. 



INTRODUCTION. 



Last winter I went to pay my re- 
spects to a Russian lady of my ac- 
quaintance who was passing through 
Paris, and who was stopping with 
Madame Bashkirtseff at her hotel in 
the Rue Ampere. 

I found there a very sympathetic 
company of middle-aged ladies and 
young girls, all speaking French per- 
fectly, with that slight accent which 
gives to our language, when spoken by 
Russians, an indescribable softness. 

In this charming circle, with its pleas- 
ant surroundings, I received a cordial 
welcome. But scarcely was I seated 



INTRODUCTION. 



near the " samovar," a cup of tea in my 
hand, when my attention was arrested 
by a large portrait of one of the young 
ladies present — a perfect likeness, free- 
ly and boldly treated, with all the fougtie 
of a master's brush. " It is my daugh- 
ter Marie," said Madame Bashkirtseff 
to me, " who painted this portrait of 
her cousin." 

I began by saying something compli- 
mentary. I could not go on. Another 
canvas, and another, and still another 
attracted me, revealing to me an excep- 
tional artist. I was charmed by one 
picture after the other. The drawing- 
room walls were covered with them, 
and at each one of my exclamations of 
delighted surprise, Madame Bashkirt- 
seff repeated to me, with a tone in 
her voice of tenderness rather than of 



INTRODUCTION. 



pride, " It is my daughter Marie " — or, 
" It is my daughter's." 

At this moment Mile. Bashkirtseff 
appeared. I saw her but once. I saw 
her only for an hour. I shall never 
forget her. Twenty-three years old, 
but she appeared much younger. 
Rather short, but with a perfect figure ; 
an oval face exquisitely modeled, golden 
hair, dark eyes kindling with intelli- 
gence — eyes consumed by the desire to 
see and to know everything — a firm 
mouth, tender and thoughtful ; nostrils 
quivering like those of a wild horse of 
the Ukraine. 

At the first glance Mile. Bashkirtseff 
gave me the rare impression of being 
possessed of strength in gentleness, 
dignity in grace. Everything in this 
adorable young girl betrayed a superior 



Xll INTRODUCTION. 

mind. Beneath her womanly charms, 
she had a truly masculine will of iron, 
and one was reminded of the gift of 
Ulysses to the young Achilles — a sword 
hidden within the garments of a 
woman. 

She replied to my congratulations in 
a frank and well-modulated voice — 
without false modesty acknowledging 
her high ambitions, and — poor child ! 
already with the finger of death upon 
her — her impatience for fame. 

In order to see her other works, we 
all went upstairs to her studio. There 
was this extraordinary young girl en- 
tirely "in her element." 

The large hall was divided into two 
rooms. The studio proper, where the 
light streamed through the large sash, 
and a darker corner heaped up with 



INTRODUCTION. XUl 

papers and books. In the one she 
worked, in the other she read. 

By instinct I went straight to the 
chef-d'oeuvre — to that " Meeting" which 
at the last Salon had engrossed so much 
attention. A group of little Parisian 
street boys, talking seriously together, 
undoubtedly planning some mischief, 
before a wooden fence at the corner of 
a street. It is a chef-d'oeuvre, I maintain. 
The faces and the attitudes of the chil- 
dren are strikingly real. The glimpse of 
meager landscape expresses the sadness 
of the poorer neighborhoods. 

At the Exhibition, before this charm- 
ing picture, the public had with an 
unanimous voice bestowed the medal 
on Mile. Bashkirtseff, who had been 
already "mentioned" the year before. 
Why was this verdict not confirmed by 



XIV 



INTRODUCTION. 



the jury ? Because the artist was a 
foreigner ? Who knows ? Perhaps be- 
cause of her wealth ? This injustice 
made her suffer, and she endeavored 
— the noble child ! — to avenge herself 
by redoubling her efforts. 

In one hour I saw there twenty can- 
vases commenced ; a hundred designs 
— drawings, painted studies, the cast 
of a statue, portraits which suggested 
to me the name of Frans Hals, scenes 
made from life in the open streets ^ 
notably one large sketch of a landscape 
— the October mist on the shore, the 
trees half stripped, big yellow leaves 
strewing the ground. In a word, works 
in which is incessantly sought, or more 
often asserts itself, the sentiment of the 
sincerest and most original art, and of 
the most personal talent. 



IXTRODUCTION 



Notwithstanding this, a lively curi- 
osity impelled me to the dark corner of 
the studio, where I saw numerous vol- 
umes on shelves and scattered over a 
work-table. I went closer and looked 
at the titles. They were the great 
works of the greatest intellects. They 
were all there in their own languages 
— French, Italian, English, and Ger- 
man ; Latin also, and even Greek, and 
they were not " library books," either, 
as the Philistines call them, "show 
books," but well-thumbed volumes, 
read, re-read, and pored over. A 
copy of Plato, open at a sublime pas- 
sage, was on the desk. 

Before my visible astonishment Mile. 
Bashkirtseff lowered her eyes, as if 
confused at the fear that I might think 
her a " blue stocking," while her mother 



XV l IN TROD UC TION. 

proudly kept on telling me of her 
daughter's encyclopaedic learning, and 
pointed out to me manuscripts black 
with notes, and the open piano at 
which her beautiful hands interpreted 
all kinds of music. 

Evidently annoyed by the expression 
of maternal pride, tire young girl laugh- 
ingly interrupted the conversation. It 
was time for me to leave, and more- 
over for a moment I experienced 
a vague apprehension, a sort of alarm 
— I can scarcely call it a presenti- 
ment. 

Before that pale and ardent young 
girl I thought of some extraordinary 
hot-house plant, beautiful and fragrant 
beyond words, and in my heart of 
hearts a sweet voice murmured, " It is 
too much ! " 



INTRODVCTION. XV11 

Alas ! it was indeed too much. A 
few months after my one visit to the 
Rue Ampere I received the sinister 
notice, bordered with black, informing 
me that Mile. Bashkirtseff was no more. 
She had died at twenty-three years of 
age, having taken a cold while making 
a sketch in the open air. Once again 
I visited the now desolate house. The 
stricken mother, a prey to a devouring 
and arid grief, unable to shed tears, 
showed me, for the second time, in 
their old places, the pictures and the 
books. She spoke to me for a long 
time of her poor dead child, revealing 
the tenderness of her heart, which her 
intellect had not extinguished. She 
led me, convulsed by sobs, even to the 
bed-chamber, before the little iron bed- 
stead, the bed of a soldier, upon which 



XVlll INTRODUCTION. 

the heroic child had fallen asleep for- 
ever 

But why try to influence the public ? 
In the presence of the works of Marie 
Bashkirtseff, before that harvest of 
hopes wilted by the breath of death, 
every one would surely experience, 
with an emotion deep as my own, the 
same profound melancholy as would be 
inspired by edifices crumbling before 
their completion, or new ruins scarcely 
risen from the ground, which flowers 
and ivy have not yet covered 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 



Translator's Preface, 
Introduction, 
To Her Aunt, . 
To Her Cousin, 

To Mlle. B , 

To Her Aunt, 
To Mlle. Colignon, 
To The Same, 
To The Same, . 
To Her Mother, . 

To Mlle. X , 

To Her Aunt, 

To Her Cousin, 

To Her Aunt, 

To Her Aunt, . 

To The Same, 

To Her Mother, 

To Her Grandfather, 

To Her Brother, 

To Her Aunt, 

To The Same, . 

To Her Father, . 

To Her Aunt, . 

To The Same, 

To Mlle. Colignon, 



PAGE 
V 

. ix 
I 
3 
4 
7 
ii 

15 
16 

18 
19 

20 

23 

32 

35 
37 
38 
43 
50 
52 
54 
55 
57 
60 
61 



XX 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 



To The Same, 
To Her Mother, 
To The Same, 
To Mlle. Colignon, 

To Mlle. X , . 

To Her Brother, 

To Mme. R , 

To Her Aunt, . 
To The Marquis of 

To M. , 

To M. de M , . 

To The Same, . 
To Mlle. Colignon, 

To M. de M , 

To The Same, 

To Mlle. B , 

To The Same, 
To Her Mother, 
To The Same, 
To The Same, . 

To M. , 

To Mlle. Colignon, 
To Her Brother, 

To M. X , . 

To Her Brother, 

To A M , 

To M. Julian, 
To Her Brother, 

To Princess K , 

To M. X , . 

To M. Julian, 



PAGE 
6 4 

66 

68 

7i 

74 

77 

80 

84 

86 

89 

93 

95 

98 

103 

105 

107 

no 

in 

114 

119 

123 

124 

126 

130 

132 

137 
146 

150 
158 
161 
166 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 



XXI 



To Her Father, . 

To M. B , . 

To The Same, 
To The Same, . 
To M. Julian, 
To Her Mother, 
To Mlle. Colignon, 
To Her Mother, 
To The Same, . 
To The Same, 
To M. Julian, 

To M. B , . 

To M. Julian, 

To Mlle. , . 

To Mlle. , 

To Mlle. , 

To M. B , 

To M. Alexander D 
To The Same, 

To M. , 

To Her Brother, . 
To Mlle. Canrobert 
To Her Mother, . 

To M. B , . 

To Mlle. , 

To The Same, . 
To Her Brother, . 

To M. , 

To M. E , 

To M. de M , 

To The Same, 



PAGE 
171 
174 
177 
l80 
182 
igO 
192 
195 
I96 

197 
199 
2IO 
212 
220 
222 
227 
233 
235 

, 238. 
241 

• 244 
247 

251 
252 

■ 253 
256 

, 258 
26l 

. 268 
269 
272 



XX11 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

To The Same, 277 

To The Same, . . . . . .284 

To The Same, 287 

To The Same, 292 



To Baron Saint- Am and, . 

To Her Brother, 

To M. Henry Houssaye, 

To M. Edmond de Goncourt, 

To M. Emile Zola, . 

To M. , 



To M. 
To M. 



Tony Robert-Fleury, 
Sully-Prudhomme, 



To The Same, 
To M. Julian, 
Appendix, . 



295 
298 
302 
304 
307 
310 
321 
322 

325 
326 

330 



LETTERS OF 

MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 

1 868- 1 874. 



To her Aunt. 

July 30, i868. x 
Dear Aunt Sop J lie : 

How are you and my uncle ? Yes- 
terday we had tableaux vivants. The 
first tableau represented the four sea- 
sons. Dina was Winter ; I, Spring ; 
Sophie Kaverine, Autumn, and Mile. 
Elise, Summer. In the second tab- 
leau were Dina and Catherine, Sophie's 
sister. Dina represented Psyche look- 

1 Marie Bashkirtseff was at this time not quite eight 
years old. She was born on the nth of November, 
i860 



LETTERS OF 



ing at Cupid asleep, and Catherine 
represented Cupid. Dina wore her 
hair hanging loose about her shoul- 
ders. She looked very pretty. In the 
third tableau Paul and I took part. I 
was the Goddess of Flowers and Paul 
the God of Fruits. In the fourth, 
Dina appeared as a Naiad ; she wore 
a white robe and was seated among 
rushes ; in her hands and under her 
feet were river grasses and rushes ; 
her gown was embroidered with white 
crystal beads that looked like drops of 
water ; through her hair, which hung 
down her back, white crystal beads 
were scattered. Come to us at Tcher- 
niakovka ; we miss you. All are well 
and all send you love. 

Your niece, 
Moussia Bashkirtseff. 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 



To her Cousin. 

TCHERNIAKOVKA, 

February 20, 1870. 
Dear Etienne : 

I thank you for the drawing and the 
letters. I am getting on pretty well 
in my studies. I send you my draw- 
ing ; but do not show it to any one, 
because it is badly done. After your 
departure I made a great many draw- 
ings, and some of them are rather 
good. I don't think we shall go 
abroad very soon ; we may do so, how- 
ever, one of these days ; mamma says 
we are to set out in a week. 

My aunt is gone to her estate with 
Paul, which is the reason Paul does not 
write to you. Your sister Dina sends 
you her love ; according to her custom, 
she does not write ; but she remembers 



LETTERS OF 



your commission. I will bring you a 
gun-case from abroad ; or, rather, write 
and tell me what you would like me to 
bring you. But write soon, for in a 
fortnight at farthest we set out. Be 
sure and write to me what you would 
like me to bring you ; if we do not 
go, I will write to you again. Ex- 
cuse this bad paper. Mamma sends 
you three rubles ; and I beg you to 
work hard at school. 

Your Devoted Cousin. 



To Mile. B. 

September 6, 1873. 
My Dear Friend: 

To-day for the first time I spoke 
Italian. Poor Michelletty (my teacher) 
came near either fainting or throwing 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 



himself out of the window with delight 
at hearing me speak Italian. I can 
now say that I speak Russian, French, 
English, and Italian, and I am learning 
German and Latin ; I am studying 
seriously. 

The day before yesterday I took my 
first lesson in natural philosophy. 

Ah, I am very well satisfied with 
myself ! 

What a great happiness that is ! 

How are your studies progressing ? 
Write to me, I beg of you. 

I received the Derby. The races 
at Baden ! How I should like to be 
there ! But no, I would not ; I must 
study ; and it was with a weight on my 
heart that I read about the running of 
X 's horses. I regained my compo- 
sure with some difficulty and consoled 



LETTERS OF 



myself, saying, " Let us study, let us 
study ; our time will come, if God wills 
it!" 

The only hour I have free is the 
breakfast hour, and they generally 
choose that time to tease me about 
X , and I blush, as I do at every- 
thing. Mamma takes my part, saying, 
" Why will you always tease her about 
that X ?" 

Mamma was very good to-day. In 
the end I really believe I shall grow 
fond of her. 

She chatted and laughed and told us 
stories of her girlhood, and recited 
verses for us. 

Yesterday, at the French lesson, I 
read sacred history and the Ten Com- 
mandments. God says we must not 
make to ourselves the image of any- 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 



thing that is in the heavens above. 
The Greeks and the Romans were in 
error ; they were idolaters who wor- 
shiped statues and paintings. I am 
very far from following their example. 
I believe in God, our Saviour, and the 
Virgin, and I honor some of the saints, 
not all, for some of them are manufac- 
tured, like plum-cake. 

God forgive me for this way of 
thinking, if it be wrong, but to my sim- 
ple mind that is how things appearand 
I cannot speak otherwise than as I feel. 
Are you pleased with my letter ? 

Good-by. 



To her Aunt. 
Spa, Sunday, July 5, 1874. 
Dear A unt : 

I promised to write to you, and here 



LETTERS OF 



is my letter. I still go out arm in arm 
with mamma. Yesterday evening I 
sang at our house and they all came 
running in from the Casino to hear me. 
Paul told me he could hear me at the 
Hotel de Flandre. 

Why do we detest some people with- 
out knowing why ? I was at peace 

when P and her mother came, and 

now I would like to run away. They 
are good, amiable, and not stupid, but 
I cannot bear them. 

We went to see the grotto at Spa ; I 
do not know how to describe it to you, 
and yet how great a pleasure it would 
be to me, later on, to come across a 
good description (I will note it all 
down in my journal) of what I saw ! 
I know that I admired it greatly ; but 
I am sure that there are much more 
beautiful grottoes in the neighborhood. 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 



not to speak of other countries, where 
there are marvels beside which this 
grotto would be as nothing. And then 
it is an insult to works of supreme beatity 
to impose our approbation on them. 

I walked with M. G , although it 

was drizzling. I arrived wet and spat- 
tered with mud. Mamma was in despair. 

The coming back was delightful ; at a 

village where he stopped, G took 

a white coverlet from one of the beds 
and a rug from the floor. He gave the 
rug to the others and wrapped the quilt 
around me. I laughed and admired the 

boldness of G . He laughed, too, 

and compared us to Paul and Virginia. 

Count Donhoff and little B 

K were presented to us, and Count 

D. Basilevsky, — a brother of the Prin- 
cess Souvaroff, — mamma, Dina, and I 
went to the races. We had the best 



LETTERS OF 



seats. Count Basilevsky sat with us. 
They say he admires mamma, and do 
you know, dear aunt, what he said ? 
He said, " The daughter is not bad, 
but she cannot be compared to the 
mother." Mamma talks of nothing but 
me ; she relates all my childish say- 
ings — the same things over and over 
again, you know. She still remem- 
bers that when she came back from 
the Crimea (I was two years old at 
the time) she said to me, on account of 
some childish frolic or other, " Marie is 
naughty." And I said to my nurse 
(for, as you know, I was not weaned 
until I was three and a half years old) 
" Marthe, let us go away from here ; 
mamma does not know Marie." Good- 
by, I send my love to all. I am rosy 
and fair, and I am very well. 



MA RIE BA SHKIR TSEFF. 1 1 



1875- 

To Mile. Colignon} 

My Dear Friend : 

What a frightful journey. 2 We got 
out at Vinenbruck, walked for twenty 
minutes, and reached the place of our 
destination — a few houses between two 
mountains — at half past one o'clock. 
You could never form an idea of the 
profound quiet that reigns in this 
place. I think a tomb would be more 
lively. My mother was enchanted, and 
I was delighted to see her again. I 

1 Her governess. 

2 Marie Bashkirtseff made her first journey to 
Schlancrenbacl at this time. 



12 LETTERS OF 



told her all that had happened since 
her departure. When I had told her 
all there was to tell I became tired of 
the place ; there is not a soul here 
to interest one. I sing and my voice 
produces the usual effect. They go 
out walking here bareheaded ; every 
one speaks to every one ; requiem de- 
lectabile. The country is wild, — wilder 
than in Russia, — melancholy, hateful ! 

When I think (and I think of it 
often) that we have only one life, I 
reproach myself for spending my time 
in this land of sausages. 

A black felt hat, of a charming style, 
a dark blue cloth princesse gown 
made very tight over the hips, with a 
short train, the train gathered up at 
the side, like a riding-habit ; yellow 
leather shoes with buckles, a fresh face, 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 13 

a regal port (as mamma says), a grace- 
ful walk. On seeing me alight, Dina 
cried out, " I did not know you ; you 
look like an old-fashioned picture." I 
asked Dina to take me through the 
town ; it is not a town but resembles, 
rather, the park of a chateau. The 
scenery is enchanting ; on all sides 
are hills covered with foliage, bal- 
conies with balustrades, rustic bridges, 
mountains, fields — all truly charming. 
But no one leans over the balus- 
trades, the walks are deserted, the 
picturesque terraces deserted also. I 
complain loudly of this, while I ad- 
mire all these beauties. On one occa- 
sion I was saying that I was bored, 
when I heard a step behind me ; I 
turned round and saw a person who 
was evidently thinking what I had just 



14 LETTERS OF 



said ; we entered into conversation, 
when lo ! — " Turn quickly," she cried, 
" and you shall see ! " I turned and I 
saw — a pink and white pig, led by a 
ribbon. At seven we went down to 
the dairy ; it was charming. 

The path, ascending and descending, 
is enchanting. Schlangenbad is a de- 
lightful garden — no squares, no streets; 
here and there are neat and simple 
little houses. I speak very little Ger- 
man ; I speak a language of my own, 
adding on irt to all the French words. 
Everybody laughs and mimics me. 
Mamma has presented me to Princess 

M . I complained of being bored 

and the princess placed at my service a 
Russian military attache, who is staying 
here, whose name I do not know. 

I shall resign myself to going to bed 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 15 

early and getting up with the chickens ; 
that will be good for my health. 

I cannot tell you how greatly I 
regret that you are not here with us, 
it would be of so much benefit to you. 
Good-by. 



To the Same. 
My Dear Friend : 

The ancients were wrong in making 
Love a boy. It is the woman who loves. 
If one could have a second self, I 
should like to be that self, in order to 
render homage to my first self only 
because she renders homage to Love. 

What of the woman who loves you 
blindly ? Is she appreciated, even if 
she adores you ? Yes, by common- 
place people. But if this woman stands 
erect before you, and then throws her- 



1 6 LETTERS OF 



self at your feet, you comprehend her 
grandeur, the grandeur of her love. 
And it is not because she thus humili- 
ates herself that she is great, but be- 
cause she elevates and ennobles you. 
Where is the man who would not feel 
himself a god in the presence of adora- 
tion like this, and who would not, con- 
sequently, understand such a woman 
and render himself her equal ! Good- 
by. 



To the Same. 
My Dear Friend: 

Are you still at Allevard ; and how 
is your health ? Where do you sup- 
pose I am to-day ? At the Hotel Planz 
at Schlangenbad ? Not at all. I am 
at the Grand Hotel at Paris, and if 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 17 

you had looked at my letter before 
opening it, you would have known it 
from the envelope. I am a naughty 
girl ; I left my mother saying I was 
delighted to depart with my uncle. 
That made her feel unhappy, and peo- 
ple do not know how much I love her, 
and they judge me by appear- 
ances. Oh ! according to appearances 
I am not very affectionate. The 
thought of seeing my aunt again fills 
my mind completely ! Poor aunt, 
who is so lonely without me ! Poor 
mamma, whom I have deserted ! Good 
Heavens ! what am I to do ? I cannot 
cut myself in two ! 

On Friday I left Schlangenbad. At 
five o'clock on Saturday I alighted at 
the door of the Grand Hotel, where 
my aunt was waiting for me. At the 



LETTERS OF 



French frontier I breathed freely for 
the first time since I left France. 
With love. 



To her Mother. 
Paris, Grand Hotel. 
Dear Mamma : 

We arrived at five this morning at 
the Grand Hotel, and though it is now 
only six, I am writing to you, which 
proves my promptness. 

I breathed freely for the first time 
in a fortnight when I saw France again. 
I am in splendid health ; I feel that I 
am beautiful ; it seems to me that I 
shall succeed in all I undertake ; every- 
thing smiles on me, and I am happy, 
happy, happy ! 

I send you a kiss. Good-by. 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 19 

Take care of yourself, mamma ; 
write to me and come soon. 



To Mlle.X . 

Paris, September i. 
My Dear Bert he : 

I answer your letter from Paris, 
where I have been for the last three 
days. My mother, who remained at 
Schlangenbad, forwarded it to me. 
Your mother is very good to think of 
me, and I am impatient to make her 
acquaintance. I am here with my 
aunt, Madame Romanoff — I think you 
have met her. How I should like to 
spend some days in the same city with 
you — we could at least see each other. 
It is unsatisfactory to meet each other 
two or three times a year, exchange a 



20 LETTERS OF 



few words, and then be again, the one 
at one end of the world, the other at 
the other. 

Let us always write to each other. 
Since our first sojourn abroad, when we 
knew each other as children, I have 
felt attracted toward you, and some- 
thing tells me that we shall one day be 
more closely united than we can be 
now. 

We are at the Grand Hotel, No. 281. 

Good-by for the present, my dear ; 
think of me as I think of you. Good- 
by. 



To her Aunt. 

Paris. 
Mine. Romanoff, Olga, Marie, — every- 
one, in short : 
I write according to my promise, and 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 21 

in the first place, I am going to declare 
that it is not at all warm, as my aunt has 
said, but delightfully cool — beautiful 
weather in fact. I have visited all my 
tradespeople, who are real angels, and 

not as dear as I had thought. K 

is with us and is wonderfully useful. 
Yesterday and the day before we went 
to the Bois. There was an immense 
crowd there, fashionable, as usual. 

Your brother, beautiful Euphrosine, 
has an adorable horse and carriage and 
plays the beau here. He turned a 
somersault when he saw me. That ape 
L is here too, as are also a num- 
ber of other people whom we met at 
Nice and elsewhere. Only, I am in 
want of money. That is the chief 
thing. Who the deuce invented that 
vile thing? How happy they were at 



2 2 LETTERS OF 



Sparta to have only leather money — 
money made from an ox-hide. I 
economize wonderfully, but notwith- 
standing all my economy, money 
deficit. 

I manage my affairs better than I 
had thought I could. I must accustom 
myself to do this. One is very un- 
happy when one can do nothing for 
one's self. 

My greatest torment is to have to 
go rambling about with Aunt Marie. 
They have all just left the house to go 
to the Bon Marche. I have stayed at 
home and am shut up in my room, 
which I like a hundred times better 
than running about the shops. 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 23 

To her Cousin. 
Paris, Grand Hotel. 
Dear Dina : 

I have met with an adventure ! I 
was standing on the balcony of the 
reading-room, waiting for my aunt, 
when I heard behind me a chorus of 
praises of my person, my figure. 
These praises proceeded from a group 
of gentlemen seated behind me. It is 
true that in my princesse robe of gray 
batiste my figure is divine, that is the 
word (you have said so yourself) ; my 
golden hair was simply dressed. I can- 
not describe it to you, but the braids 
fell half-way down my back ; this was 
not all ; among the group were some 
Brazilians who watched me and fol- 
lowed me ; this was not all ; there was 



24 LETTERS OF 



a charming young Englishman who 
seemed to be taken with me ; this was 
not all ; there was a frightful blond 
Russian who pursued me ; this was not 
all, and even if I should think this were 
all, there are a great many other fools 
of whom I shall not take the trouble 
to speak. Even the women look at 
me and admire my toilets, which are 
astonishingly simple and surprisingly 
chic. Read my letter to mamma ; it 
will please her ; it will cure her ; poor 
mamma ! 

A victoria with a pair of horses was 
brought to the door and we drove out. 

In the Bois the carriages were four 
abreast ; we were almost crushed to 
death. I was going to express my 
wonder at the ugliness of the men 
when I saw a familiar figure approach. 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 25 

I tried to recollect where I had seen him 
before — one sees so many people, so 
many faces that the sight grows weary 
and the mind confused. The person 
saluted me and I saw smiling on me 
the countenance of the stupid Em. 

At the second turn the surprising 
but stupid personage approached the 
vehicle and in his harsh voice, with his 
Nicene accent, uttered these remark- 
able words, " Where are you staying ? " 
"At the Grand Hotel," answered my 
aunt. "Very good." As for me, I did 
not even look at him. 

I don't know what to attribute the 
revulsion of feeling to, but before 
everything seemed dark tome and now 
everything seems rose-colored. We 
returned just in time for the hotel din- 
ner. To the left were the men I called 



26 LETTERS OF 



the Brazilians ; to the right, in the read- 
ing room, was the handsome English- 
man, who came to the window twenty 
times to have an excuse to look at me. 
I saw him glance at me each time from 
out of the corner of his eye, from behind 
the paper he pretended to be reading. 

Oh, truly, I am not worth all this 
trouble ! I went to my room and be- 
gan to write. A knock came to the 
door ; the chambermaid handed me a 

card — De M 's. I told her to show 

him in. It was Remy, alone, without 
his father. I looked at his hat on the 
table, at his black hair, and an idea 
struck me. "Sit down," I said, " with 
your back toward the door, and do not 
turn around when my aunt comes in ; I 
want her to think you are some one 
else." And our talk was interrupted at 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 27 

every moment by our bursts of laugh- 
ter ; I pictured to myself the expres- 
sion on my aunt's face when she should 
see him. 

Remy assures me that he has not 
changed in all these four years. 

" How many girls have you been in 
love with, meantime?" I asked him. 
" Not one ! I swear it ! " I doubted, 
he "protested ; I laughed, he sighed. 
It is pleasant to keep the friends of 
one's childhood. In those days, as 
you know, he was a hundred times 
more of a flirt than I. Now I am an 
old woman and he is a child. He 
ventured to ask me if I had changed. 

" Not at all," I anwered. " I am 
still the same. I am not in love with 
you ; that goes without saying." 

I meant that I had never been so. 



28 LETTERS OF 



But why destroy people's illusions ? 
(It will be three years still before he 
finishes his studies.) He shook his 
head and stammered some words which 
signified, " Oh, of course not ; I never 
dared to think otherwise." " But," I 
continued, " I am your friend." 

My aunt entered the room, and I 
burst out laughing when I saw her 
face, at once astonished, smiling, and 
severe. She assumed a ceremonious 
air, but Remy turned around, and her 
expression changed instantaneously. 
" Oh, oh, oh ! what a delightful sur- 
prise ! " 

In the Bois J there were so many 
people, from Nice that for a moment I 
fancied myself in Nice. 

1 The end of this letter is to be found, slightly va- 
ried, in the journal of Marie Bashkirtseff. 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 29 

It is September, and Nice is so beau- 
tiful in September ! I thought of last 
year ; my morning walks there with my 
dogs, the cloudless sky, the silvery sea. 
Here there is neither morning nor even- 
ing ; in the morning they are sweep- 
ing, in the evening the innumerable 
lights irritate my nerves. I am com- 
pletely lost here. I cannot tell the east 
from the west, while there I feel so 
perfectly at home ! One is in a nest, 
as it were, surrounded by mountains, 
neither too high nor too arid. On 
three sides one is sheltered, as if by one 
of Laferriere's graceful and comfortable 
mantles, and in front is an immense 
window, a limitless horizon, always the 
same, always new. Ah, I love Nice. 
Nice is my country. Nice has given 
me my growth ; Nice has given me 



30 LETTERS OF 



health and a fresh color. It is so beau- 
tiful there ; one gets up with the dawn, 
and to the left one sees the sun rise be- 
hind mountains that stand out clearly 
against a silvery blue sky, so soft and 
vapory that one can scarcely breathe 
for joy. At midday the sun faces my 
window ; it is warm, but the air is not 
warm ; there is that incomparable 
breeze that always keeps the atmos- 
phere cool. Everything seems wrapped 
in slumber. There is not a soul to be 
seen on the promenade but three or 
four old men of the place, asleep on 
benches. There I am alone ; there I 
can breathe freely ; there is something 
to admire, something to awaken the 
emotions. What am I telling you ? 
Things you already know ; but as I am 
in the mood I will go on. 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 31 

And at night the same sky, the same 
sea, the same mountains. But at night 
all is black or deep blue. And when the 
moon throws across the water a broad 
pathway of light, like a fish with dia- 
mond scales, and I am seated at my 
window, tranquil and alone, I ask for 
nothing more, and I prostrate myself 
in thankfulness before God ! Ah, no ! 
you cannot understand what I want 
to say, you will never understand it, 
because you have never felt it. No, 
this is not what I mean, but it makes 
me desperate when I try to express 
what I feel. It is as if I had a nieht- 

<z> 

mare and had not the strength to cry 
out. 

And then, words can never give an 
idea of real life. How describe the 
freshness, the perfume of memory ! 



32 LETTERS OF 



One may invent, one may create, but 
one cannot copy. It is in vain to feel 
when one writes ; only commonplace 
words are the result — woods, mountains, 
sky, moon, etc., etc. 

Write me all the news from Schlan- 
genbad, and come soon. 



To her Aunt, 



Paris. 



My Very Dear Aunt : 

Do not torment yourself needlessly 
and do not indulge in gloomy forebod- 
ings. Everything is going on admir- 
ably, except the disposition of my 
august mother, who is out of humor 
from morning till night, and who econ- 
omizes to such an extent that it is ter- 
rible. My august mother proposed to 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 33 

do away with breakfast — fancy that, to 
do away with breakfast ! This was 
atrocious ; but I am good-natured ; I 
did not get angry, and the proposition 
has remained a proposition. 

The whole world is in Paris, from 
the Queen of Spain to A . 

We have seen several hotels. There 
is one in the Champs-Elysees, standing 
by itself, with a little garden, stables, 
and a coach-house, three servants' 
rooms, eight bedrooms, three parlors, 
a dining-room, a winter garden, cel- 
lars, kitchen, bath-room, servants' hall, 
etc., etc. It is not a very large house, 
and if we hire it, it will be necessary to 
add two or three rooms to it. It is 
only in Paris that one can live ; every- 
where else one vegetates. When I 
think that I live in Nice, I am ready 



34 LETTERS OF 



to knock my head against the wall. 
And to think that we have bought 
a house at Nice ! How horrid ! I 
know that I shall be ridiculed for what 
I say, but I don't care. I say what 
I say, and I know what I know. To 
live anywhere but here is to lose one's 
time, one's money, one's beauty, one's 
health — everything in short. Every 
living man of sense will say that I am 
right. How is papa's health ? Em- 
brace him for me. I intend to win 
2,000,000 rubles, and then I will show 
you from whom I am descended. 

I am the daughter of Madame Angot, etc. 

When I think that we are selling in 
Russia to buy in Nice ! But this is 
nonsense. 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 35 

In fine, since the affair is begun 
finish it ; pay for the house at Nice 
and then we can try to sell it, if we find 
a purchaser. Pray buy no furniture, 
as we can order it here ; it is not worth 
while to spend money for this Nicene 
barracks. 

I send a hundred kisses. Have 
Prater shaved and washed. 

P. S. — I inclose my photograph as 
Mzgnon, for the tableaux vivants. 



To her Aunt. 
EPISTLE TO MY AUNT ASKING FOR MONEY. 

The eldest of the Graces three 
Is plunged in direst misery ! 
If your charitable soul, 
Of great things capable, her dole 
Will pity, as I hope, believe 



36 LETTERS OF 



That every franc you shall receive 
Again with interest, when I'm queen. 
My soul, that shrinks from all things 

mean, 
And my splendor-loving heart 
Lose their freshness, like a tart, 
In this pitiful hotel. 
Wherefore, most advisable, 
My drooping spirits to revive, 
In the Bois a daily drive 
At the evening hour to be, 
Dear aunt, you surely will agree. 
But gowns, for this, and carriages 
Are indispensable, and these, 
With an empty exchequer, 
How, alas ! provide ? Give ear, 
I pray, to my petition, then, 
And send me money, which again 
I will return, when I am queen. 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 37 

To the Same. 

Paris. 

It rained all the morning. 

Ah, aunt, if you could send me a lit- 
tle of the vile metal ! 

In truth, I cannot understand how 
there can be people who might live in 
Paris and yet prefer to vegetate in 
Nice ! 

If you only knew how beautiful Paris 
is ! At Laferrieres, Caroline is gone 
to the waters ; the tall, thin girl fills 
her place, and not badly ; at least with 
her, I can do as I choose. 

Ah, aunt, do then send me some 
money, 

For I am in dire distress, 
And my heart, and my heart, 

Sad and anxious thoughts oppress ! 

Not to go every day to the Bois is 



3 8 LETTERS OF 



to die of ennui ; you know well that I 
detest running about the boulevards 
and the shops. My only pleasure is to 
go breathe the pure air of the country, 
to inhale the sweet odors of the Bois, 
to admire nature — the nature of the 
carriages and the dresses. 

Ah, aunt, do then send me some 
money, 

For I am in dire distress, 
And my heart, and my heart. 

Sad and anxious thoughts oppress ! 

God keep you, my friends. We, by 

the grace of God, 

Marie. 



To her Mother. 

Florence. 
Dear Mamma : 

We alighted at the Hotel de France. 

Ah, I am used to traveling ; I have 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 39 

been doing nothing else for some time 
past. I am well and happy. What is 
disagreeable is that we do not know a 
soul — that we two women, my aunt and 
myself, are here alone. Well, we must 
try to make the best of it. 

What life ! What animation ! Songs, 
cries, on all sides. I feel at my ease 
here. We are here as if we were in 
the heart of a wood, in the selva reggia 
of Dante. I know neither where the 
people are going nor what they are 
doing. I know nothing, nothing, noth- 
ing ! But, as a Russian poet says, our 
happiness consists in our miserable ig- 
norance. He is right. I am ignorant 
of all that is going on here, and I am 
almost tranquil. I should take it very 
ill of the person who would attempt to 
draw me out of this miserable ignorance, 
who should say to me, " There is a ball 



4° LETTERS OF 



there, a fete here." I should want to 
be there and that would torment me. 

It is a lovely moonlight night, and 
our hotel is situated on the only spot 
on the banks of the Arno which is not 
arid and ugly, like the Paillon of Nice. 
To-morrow we will visit the galleries 
and the palace ! 

Ah, how pleasant life is here ! We 
visited the Pitti Palace, and afterward 
the picture gallery. The picture which 
struck me most was the "Judgment of 
Solomon," the figures in mediaeval cos- 
tumes ; there are several other pictures 
as naive as this. You know I have a 
respect for very old pictures, but this 
does not prevent me from seeing their 
defects. There was a Venus with feet 
so distorted that one might have 
thought she had been in the habit of 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 4* 

wearing high-heeled shoes. My own 
feet are of a much better shape. There 
are very beautiful and curious objects 
in the palace, thousands of them. 
What I like best are the portraits, be- 
cause they are not invented, composed, 
arranged. There is also a curious col- 
lection of miniatures. Why do we not 
dress now as they did in olden times ? 
The present fashions are ugly. You 
know that I have settled on the style 
of dress I shall wear, once I am mar- 
ried — it is to be classic — the style of 
the Empire, or rather, of the Direc- 
toire — but modest, very modest. There 
are some charming gowns, draped care- 
lessly, and fastened in front with a belt. 
Ah, the women of to-day do not know 
how to dress ; the most elegant of them 
are badly dressed. Well, have patience ; 



4 2 LETTERS OF 



if God grants me grace to do what I 
wish, you shall see one woman, at least, 
dressed with some taste. 

From the picture gallery we went to 
the house of Buonarotti, but there was 
such a crowd that we could see noth- 
ing. Afterward we went to the Museo 
del Pietre D. A superb collection of 
mosaics ! Then to the Galeria del 
Belorta. I shall not describe it ; when 
you are well we will go there together ; 
besides, it would take a volume to 
describe it, and the description would 
give no idea of it. You know I adore 
painting, sculpture, art, in a word. 

Good-by for a while. With love. 



MA HIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 43 

To her GrandfatJier. 

Florence, 
Wednesday, September 15. 
Dear Grandpapa: 

We visited the Galeria degli Uffizi, 
which communicates with the Pitti 
Palace, of which I saw as much yester- 
day as it was possible to see in a pass- 
ing view. To-day I remained in the 
gallery for an hour and a half ; I spent 
a long time looking at the statues and 
the busts. 

I was disappointed in the head of 
Alcibiades. I had never pictured him 
to myself with that bald forehead, that 
small mouth, showing the teeth ; that 
closely trimmed beard. 

Cicero is well enough (don't be un- 
easy, I do not take him for a Greek) ; 



44 LETTERS OF 



but that poor Socrates ! He did well 
to study philosophy and converse with 
his Daemon. There was nothing else 
for him to do. How absurdly ugly ! 

At last I beheld the famous Venus 
de Medici. This doll was another dis- 
appointment. Those narrow shoul- 
ders do not arouse my admiration, 
and the head and the features are like 
those of all Greek statues. No, this 
is not Venus, the enchanting goddess, 
the mother of Love. The mouth is 
cold ; the lips are expressionless ; the 
proportions, indeed, are admirably pre- 
served, but what would be left if the 
proportions were less perfect ! I may 
be called barbarous, ignorant, arrogant, 
stupid, but this is my opinion. The 
Venus of Milo is much more like a 
Venus. 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 45 

I passed on to the pictures, and 
found at last something worthy of the 
name of Raphael — not a faded, insipid 
image, like some of his Madonnas ; not 
an Infant Christ that looks as if it 
were made of papiei' machd, but a life- 
like, fresh, beautiful head — la For- 
narina. Perhaps it is because I under- 
stand nothing about the matter, but I 
prefer this head a thousand times to 
all his Madonnas put together. " A 
Woman," by Titian, fair and plump, is 
admirable as Flora ; she reappears in a 
painting in the Pitti Palace, by Titian, 
also, representing " Cleopatra Causing 
Herself to be Bitten by an Asp," in 
which she is absurd — too fat, too fair, 
not at all like a Greek-Egyptian. The ef- 
fects of light in the pictures of Gherardo 
delle Notti pleased me infinitely. The 



46 LETTERS OF 



figures are beautiful and life-like. The 
large canvas representing the " Shep- 
herds beside the Cradle of Jesus " is 
superb. Without the hackneyed aure- 
ole, the Divine Infant illumines the 
figures of those who surround him and 
seems himself made of light. The 
Virgin Mary lifts up the cloth, uncover- 
ing the Infant, and looks at the shep- 
herds with a truly heavenly smile. 
The faces of these latter are lighted up 
with an expression of adoration, and 
those who are nearest shade their eyes 
with their hands as one does when one 
is dazzled by the sunlight. All the 
faces are beautiful and true to nature. 
It is plain that the painter understood 
what he was about. 

In the French Hall there is a very 
pretty small portrait by Mignard, and 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 47 

in the Flemish Hall there is a picture 
by Franz van Myeris which enchanted 
me on account of its extraordinary 
delicacy. The more closely one ex- 
amines it the finer it seems, and the 
more wonderful the coloring. I men- 
tion only the pictures which I noticed 
particularly ; and then I devoted most 
of my time to the busts of the Roman 
emperors and the Roman women, 
Agrippina Poppsea and — I have for- 
gotten her name. Nero is incom- 
parably beautiful. 

Marcus Aurelius has a fine, large 
head. 

Titus resembles some one I have 
seen, whom I cannot remember. 

They have just brought us the ticket 
for the box at the Palliano Theater to- 
night. They do not give a ticket, but 



4 8 LETTERS OF 



the key of the box and two cards of 
admission ; I have seen this fashion 
only in Italy. 

We leave here to-morrow. The 
more I see the more I want to see. 
I can scarcely tear myself away from 
all these beauties. The Venus de 
Medici made me very proud. Later 
we shall visit the Egyptian and Etrus- 
can museums. 

Primitive art has its charms, but I do 
not think, as they say, that Greek 
sculpture was brought from Egypt. 

It is of an entirely different character 
and then, as I believe, even in the remot- 
est times in Greece there was never 
anything resembling Egyptian art, as 
in Egypt there was never, nor is there 
now, anything at all approaching the 
magnificence of Greek art. 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 49 

In Egypt, art has always remained 
the same — imposing and absurd. I 
am sorry I cannot better explain what 
I comprehend so well. Ah, dear 
grandpapa, if you were only with us ! 
Well, let us leave proud Florence. 
That Lanza leggier a piota molt che 
dipel maculato era caperta, as the long- 
nosed Dante says. Here is another 
long nose. 

Let us return, let us return to our 
own town, the haughty city of Segur- 
ana. Once more to the railway car- 
riage ! What a pity there were no 
railroads in the time of Dante ! He 
would certainly have made them one 
of the punishments of his Inferno. 
This ill-smelling smoke, this noise, this 
perpetual shaking ! 

Good-by for a while. With love. 



5° LETTERS OF 



To her BrotJier. 

Nice. 
Dear Paul : 

I have just returned from Florence, 
where aunt took me for a visit. At 
Monte Carlo I was already rosy with 
happiness, and I laughed for joy all 
the way to Nice. We had telegraphed 
for the carriage and we found it wait- 
ing for us. Instead of undressing I 
went to see the masons, who are mak- 
ing alterations in the rooms ; then I 
ran upstairs to the second floor, where 
we are to lodge in the mean time. I 
am going to tell you everything. When 
I was in my own room I took off my 
gown, rushed to my books, and ar- 
ranged them in the book-cases, and 
having finished this task, I threw my- 



MA RIE BA SHKIR TSEFF. 5 1 

self on the carpet and spent an hour 
playing with my two dogs — the only 
real friends a man can have, even if 
that man were Socrates himself. Pat, 
poi, riposto un poco il corpo lasso, ripres- 
sivia per la piaggoginivesta. But this 
was not until I had washed myself from 
head to foot and put on a fine white 
chemise, a petticoat, and my gray ba- 
tiste gown, without the bodice, which I 
changed for a white foulard cape ; you 
know how becoming that is to me. I 
shall try to be contented then, and 
with my books spend agreeably the 
few days we still have to remain here. 
Tell me what you are doing ; give me 
a minute account of your life at Gav- 
ronzy. I embrace you and I pity you. 



52 LETTERS OF 



I876. 

To her Aunt. 

Hotel de Londres, 

Piazza di Spagna, 

Rome, January 3. 
Dear Aunt : 

At last I am in Rome, after a 
wretched night spent in a full com- 
partment, on cushions as hard as wood. 
It was horrible, but it is over, and we 
are at the Hotel de Londres, Piazza di 
Spagna. What is atrocious is to have 
to haggle ! 

Send Leonie on at once, with what- 
ever things we may have forgotten. I 
left my note-paper and a box of pens 
behind. Send them to me. Do not 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 53 



forget my recommendation with respect 
to the furniture. Be sure to send the 
telegram about the horses to Alexandre, 
without changing it. Take care of my 
dogs. 

I am in despair at having forgotten 
to bid grandpapa good-by, but I was so 
hurried, there was such noise and con- 
fusion ! Tell him, dear aunt, that I send 
him a thousand, thousand embraces, 
that I kiss his hands, and beg him to 
forgive my unpardonable negligence. 

I have little news as yet to tell you. 
I have not seen Rome, but it seems to 
me like a great machine. 

We arrived only a couple of hours 
ago. To-morrow I will write to every- 
body. 

Good-by. 

Take care of yourself and come soon, 



54 LETTERS OF 



so that my present companions may re- 
turn in peace to the city of Catherine 
Segurana. 

A thousand kisses. 



To the Same. 

Dear Aunt : 

I inclose you another letter, which I 
beg you will stamp and post for me. 

We are all well. Instead of remain- 
ing in the house, go everywhere, and 
write and tell me all that is going on 
at Nice. 

Give my love to D P and 

T . 

Send Leonie and Fortune to me. 
Send me, also, my white parasol, which 
I think I left at Nice. 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 55 

Try to come to us as soon as pos- 
sible. 

Bring D P with you. 

I am well, and send you my love. 
Good-by. 



To her Father. 

Hotel de Ville, 

Rome, March 10. 
Dear Father : 

You have always been prejudiced 
against me, although I have never 
done anything to justify such a feeling 
on your part. I have never lost the 
love and esteem for you, however, 
which every well-born girl owes to her 
father. 

I regard it as my duty to consult you 
on all serious matters, and I am per- 



56 LETTERS OF 



suaded that you will take the interest 
in them which they deserve. 

I have been asked in marriage by 
Count B . Mamma will have al- 
ready told you of this, but yesterday I 
also received a proposal from Count 
A , the nephew of Cardinal A 

I consider myself too young to 
marry, but in any case I ask your ad- 
vice in the matter, and I hope that you 
will give it to me. Both the gentle- 
men I have named are young, rich, 
and have done all in their power to 
please me. I regard them both with 
indifference. 

While awaiting an answer to my let- 
ter I remain, with the greatest respect 
and esteem, 

Your devoted and obedient daughter. 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 57 

To her Aunt. 

Rome. 
Dear Aunt: 

Last night at the theater there was 
a young man who looked at me persist- 
ently through his opera-glass, like a 
fool. I felt inclined to be indignant, 
but to show anger would be to expose 
myself to ridicule. I acted with per- 
fect unconcern, pretending to have 
noticed nothing. There is no one 
here whom I like ; this young fellow 
interested me because he watched me 
like a fool, and because he was in a 
box and the friends with whom he was 
chatting (they had five or six boxes in 
a row) seemed to be gentlemen of 
fashion. 

In every opera troupe there must be 
a prima donna, at every reunion a 



5 8 LETTERS OF 



primo N N . I looked for one 

all the evening, but in vain. 

There were plenty of them, but there 
was not one who was distinguishable 
from the rest. 

Black eyes, black hair, a pale com- 
plexion. The young fellow was sepa- 
rated from us only by two boxes, and 
he changed his place continually to 
get a view of my face, impatiently 
waiting for me to lower my opera-glass 
so that he might look at me, which he 
did without ceasing during the whole 
evening ; that is to say, from eight 
o'clock until midnight. 

The exit is very handsome and was 
crowded with men ; you pass between 
two living walls composed of hundreds 
of persons, just the same as at Nice, 
only that at Nice there are compara- 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 59 

tively few people, while here it is a 
pleasure to go out from the opera. I 
love those human hedges, those hun- 
dreds of eyes fixed upon one. And they 
are very polite here ; they make room 
for one to pass. 

The next time I go to the opera, 1 
shall enjoy myself still more, for I now 
know a great many people by sight. 

The evening reminded me of some of 
the evenings at Nice — less brilliant, but 
much more home-like ; there I am at 
home, and according to the Russian 
proverb, " It is pleasant to visit, but it 
is pleasanter to be at home." 

You will see that after three or four 
visits I shall adore the Apollo, and 
then to feel those thousands of black 
eyes all looking at me is a sort of dis- 
traction which suits me. I can dispense 



6o LETTERS OF 



with looking at others, as long as 
others look at me, and I like this even 
better. 

Good-by ; love to all. Mamma is 
well and writes to you. 



To the Same. 



Rome. 



Dear Aunt : 

I shall begin by saying that my 
health is excellent. 

Reassure yourself, I beg of you ; I 
am rosier than ever. 

In the next place, I have a com- 
mission to give you. 

Send me my old mousseline de laine 
gown with the white braid, and the 
skirt of the mousselzne de chine gown, 
the one trimmed with gold braid. 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 61 

As for the box from Laferriere, it 
contains a gown which you must also 
send me here. Worth is going to 
send some ball dresses to Nice and you 
can send them to us immediately to 
Rome. You must lose no time. We 
are beginning to get settled in Rome. 
A thousand kisses. How are matters 
progressing ? 



To Mile. Colignon. 

June 13. 
My Dear Friend : x 

I, who would like to live half-a-dozen 
lives at once, do not live even a quarter 
of a life. I am held in fetters, but God 
will have pity on me. I have no 

1 See in the journal of Marie Bashkirtseff, page 8i,a 
fragment which reproduces the ideas expressed in this 
letter. 



62 LETTERS OF 



strength ; I feel as if I must die. It is 
as I have said, I desire either to acquire 
all that God has given my mind the 
power to grasp and to comprehend, in 
which case I should be worthy of attain- 
ing it, or to die. For if God cannot, 
without injustice to others, grant me 
everything, he will not have the cruelty 
to allow an unhappy girl, whom he has 
endowed with understanding and the 
ambition to excel in what she under- 
stands, to live. 

God has not made me such as I am 
without some purpose. He cannot 
have given me the power to under- 
stand all things in order to torture me 
by denying me everything. Such a 
supposition is not in accordance with 
the nature of God, who is just and 
merciful. 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 6$ 

I must attain what I desire or I must 
die. He who is afraid, yet goes to 
meet danger, is braver than he who is 
not afraid. And the greater the fear 
the greater the merit. The past lives 
in memory and is consequently a sort 
of present. The future does not exist. 
Let us not try to evade the question by 
a sophism saying that this instant in 
which I am writing to you is already 
past ; by the present we understand 
to-day, to-morrow, a week hence. This 
leads me to say that one should take 
no thought for the future, regret noth- 
ing. Do we live for the future ? 

And do we gain anything by making 
the present unhappy, in order to enjoy 
the hope of future happiness ? Do not 
scold me, and good-by. 



64 LETTERS OF 



To the Same. 
My Dear Friend : 

I am happy in your happiness ; one 
can never learn good news too soon. 
Is it a merit to be calm when calm- 
ness is in one's nature ? I am both sad 
and enraged. Nothing remains to me 
but the remembrance of a great dis- 
appointment, and if I am disgusted, it 
is to see that my life has been a failure. 
You know / had a sort of pride in 
thinkirig I was going to make my life 
glorious and beautiful. I regarded it 
with the selfish affection of a painter 
who is working on a picture which he 
desires to make his masterpiece. Bear 
well in mind the words that are under- 
lined ; in them you have the principal 
cause of all my troubles and the ex- 
pression and the exact explanation of 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 65 

all my vexations — past, present, and 
to come. I am so peculiarly consti- 
tuted that I regard my life as some- 
thing apart from me, and on this life 
I have fixed all my ambition and all 
my hopes ; if it were not for this I 
should be indifferent to everything. 
Remember well, then, remember well 
these words, my dear friend, they ex- 
plain everything, and spare me the 
trouble of expressing and explaining 
my feelings. 

I look pretty to-day. Nothing beau- 
tifies so greatly as the consciousness of 
being beautiful. One should pay the 
strictest attention to little things, for 
life is made up of them, and one be- 
comes worse than the animals if one 
neglects them. I am becoming a phil- 
osopher. Good-by. 



66 LETTERS OF 



To her Mother. 

July 3. 
Dear Mamma : z 

What am I ? Nothing. What do I 
want ? Everything. 

Let me rest my spirit, fatigued by 
all these bounds toward the infinite, 

and let us return to A . Ah, still 

thinking of him, a boy, a miserable 
creature ! 

No, the principal thing is that I 
must leave my journal at home ! I am 
taking Pietro's letter with me ; I will 
tell you why; I have just re-read it. 
He is unhappy ! Why, then, has he so 
little spirit ? It is all very well for me 
to speak in this way, in my exception- 

1 See the journal of Marie Bashkirtseff, pages 87 
and 88. The same ideas are there repeated and 
sometimes in the same words. 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 67 

ally independent position (for you in- 
dulge me greatly), but him ! — And 
those Romans — there are no people 
like them. Poor Pietro ! 

My future glory prevents me from 
thinking about him seriously ; it seems 
to reproach me for the thoughts I 
devote to him. 

No, Pietro is only a diversion — a 
strain of mttsic in which to drown the 
lamentations of my soul. And yet I 
reproach myself for thinking of him, 
since he can be of no use to me. He 
cannot even be the first rung of the 
ladder that leads to fame. 

Ah, dear mamma, you cannot under- 
stand me, but I must tell you what I 
feel, all the same. 

If I were remarkable for anything, I 
should be famous — but remarkable for 



68 LETTERS OF 



what? Singing and painting! Are 
they not enough? The one is present 
triumph ; the other eternal glory ! 

For both alike it would be necessary 
to go to Rome, and to be able to study 
one must have a tranquil mind. I 
should have to take my father with me, 
and to do this I should have to go to 
Russia. Well, then, I will go there ! 

You are now in grief, but we shall 
one day triumph over all our enemies 
and we shall yet be happy, I promise 
you. 

Good-by. With love. 



To the Same. 

Paris, July. 
Dear Mamma : 

The heat is stifling. We have been 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 69 

shopping, and we went to see our 
carriages, — which are very handsome. 
We have not yet met any one we 
know, and then this is the most abom- 
inable season in Paris, although there 
is a good deal going on. 

The day after to-morrow I am going 
to consult the somnambulist, and I will 
write the result to you. 

I hope you will not grieve too much 
on account of my absence. Have the 
white curtains of my room folded and 
remember what I said about the carpet. 

I shall soon return — in three months, 
or perhaps less. And then, there is no 
attraction for me in Russia, nothing 
requires my presence there. I shall go 
because things are progressing badly, 
and I hope to arrange matters satis- 
factorily. 



70 LETTERS OF 



Amuse yourself, and be sure and go 
to Schlangenbad ; take care of your 
health, and write me kind letters. 

Aunt is well ; she sends you her 
love. 

Good-by ; take care of yourself. 
Love to you, grandpapa, and Dina. 
Write. 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 7 1 

1877. 

To Mile. Colignon. 

My Dear Friend : 

B -, whom you admire so much, 

came this morning to bring some songs 
for Soria to sing to-night, in order that 
he should not have to come carrying his 
bundle under his arm. 

I went out with mamma, and after- 
ward I went through the rooms to see 
if they had brought the flowers and if 
all the arrangements were to my taste. 
We had a few guests at dinner. I 
must confess that I did not find them 
very amusing, so that I soon retired to 
my room, where I spent about an hour 
reading. I had scarcely gone down 
a^ain when G arrived and immedi- 



72 LETTERS OF 



ately afterward B , Diaz de Soria, 

and Rapsaid. 

I took possession of Rapsaid, who is 
the most celebrated amateur tenor here, 
and who is in great demand, as it ap- 
pears. (He is ugly, intelligent, and a 
Belgian.) While Soria chatted with 
mamma, he seized the first opportunity 
that presented itself to come over and 
take the other seat of the tite-a-tite on 
which I was sitting, and attacked me — 
that is the word. 

With his olive complexion, black 
beard, bald head, and large, brilliant 
Arab eyes, it was the most natural 
thing in the world that he should be 
captivated by my fair hair and white 
skin. Instead of going into ecstasies 
and begging him to sing, I said that I 
never begged anything ; that if he had 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 73 

a mind to sine, he would sine of his 
own accord. He sang divinely. Until 
the departure of Soria, B ■ , and Rap- 
said, there was a brilliant succession of 
bon mots, songs, and bursts of laughter. 
The most flattering things were said 

to me. A would like to see me 

entering the ball-room of the Tuileries 
in state ; the general compared me to 
one of the Vestal Virgins, the others to 
— I don't know what ; Soria to Galatea. 
Animated by all this, and fearing that 
I was neglecting the ladies, I returned 
to them, and we installed ourselves in 
the little smoking-room, where we 
chatted and laughed about a hundred 
amusing things, until it was half-past 
twelve. Nice evidently wishes that 
my last impression of it shall be a 
pleasant one. 



74 LETTERS OF 



I embrace you and regret that you 
are not with us. 

Write to me and take care of your 
health. 



To Mile. X . 

Nice. 
My Dear Friend : 

There is no occasion for me to con- 
ceal my sentiments for the young man 
you mention, because he never made 
any impression upon me, because I have 
never liked him, and because if he had 
never chanced to notice me, I might 
have lived next door to him for a 
hundred years without even being 
aware of his existence. 

As for serious fancies, I have only had 
two in my life — the first, when I was a 
child of thirteen, for the Duke of H . 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 75 

I speak of this sentiment from recol- 
lection only, for the feeling itself I 
have long forgotten ; and I suppose 
there was in it a good deal of fictitious 
enthusiasm, of which I had, at that 
time, abundance, and for everything, 
and which I did not know what to do 
with. 

The second was for Count de L- ; 

but it was not at the races that I con- 
ceived this fancy for him ; at the races 
the only impression he produced upon 
me was that of a handsome boy. 

The day after, when I was at the 

Toledo with X , I perceived that he 

had some style. And at the railway 
station, when we were leaving Naples, 
I completely lost my heart. 

You remember what I said that 
evening — I fell in love with him the 



76 LETTERS OF 



instant I saw him looking in at me 
through the window of the railway 
carriage. 

I cannot describe my sensations ; 
such feelings are indescribable and in- 
comprehensible. 

I saw him again afterward, but with- 
out experiencing any other emotion 
than that which was produced by the 
recollection of the first strange electric 
shock. On this last occasion it was not 
that he himself made any impression 
upon me, but I suddenly remembered 
my former feeling for him and I felt 
it again, in the recollection, almost as 
strongly as I had felt it on the original 
occasion. 

And the same thing happens now 
whenever I think of him, although in- 
deed I hardly ever think of him. 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 77 

To her Brother. 

Nice. 
Dear Paul: 

Yesterday Faure sang in " Faust " be- 
fore a brilliant audience. We arrived 
before the rising of the curtain — my 

aunt, Dina, I, the general, and M , 

and, shortly afterward, Marquis R . 

From the first moment to the last 
I felt happy, without knowing why. I 
even made some bon mots, which might 
have some success if — but no one will 
think of repeating them. Well, they 
will certainly be more likely to be re- 
peated than if any one else had made 
them. Several other persons came ; 
the crowd was uncomfortable, and 
B slipped away. 

But before anything else, let me tell 
you that I am enchanted, charmed, 



78 LETTERS OF 



captivated by the playing, the singing, 
and the face of Faure. Yes, just so, of 
this actor. He was not an actor, he 
was not a singer, he was not a perfect 
Mephistopheles — he was Satan himself. 
Costume, manners, face, the illusion 
was complete — devilish subtlety ; piti- 
less, diabolic raillery ; cynical and flip- 
pant philosophy. 

Side by side with this perfection of 
art, I saw what I shall doubtless never 
see again — a Marguerite who did not 
sing. That is too much, you will say. 
It is true. At first I thought she was 
agitated, frightened ; and when she 
began the air of the " King of Thule," 
I trembled and hid myself in the cor- 
ner of the box as frightened and 
ashamed as if I myself were the singer. 
She uttered a moan, murmured a few 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 79 

sounds, shrieked — it was so bad that 
they did not even deign to hiss. 

What delightful hours those were ! 
The box was full of people, which pre- 
vented me from falling into one of my 
gloomy moods. The music was divine, 
enveloping me like a triple cloak of 
well-being, which warmed my heart 
and enchanted me. 

During the tiresome parts I laughed 
and jested with my companions in the 
box, all of them intellectual people. 
That night I fancied myself happy, and 
I prayed on my knees to God to allow 
my throat to be cured so that I could 
study singing. For that is true life ! 
The details of " Faust " may please, in 
a certain way, thanks to the music, but 
the subject is disgusting. I do not say 
immoral, hideous ; I say disgusting. 



8o LETTERS OF 



I wore a gown of a clinging and 
elastic material that modestly revealed 
the outlines of my figure ; my hair was 
dressed a la Psyche, gathered up at the 
back of the head in a knot of natural 
curls. Every one said that my appear- 
ance was entirely original — coiffure, 
costume, figure — I seemed a living 
statue, and not merely a young lady, 
like so many others. You should be 
proud, my dear boy, to have a sister 
like me. 

Enough for to-day. 

With love. 



To Mme. R- 



Naples, April 2. 
Your letter delighted me. All that 
you say is so true that I have thought 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 81 



it a hundred times ; only, you over- 
estimate my real worth. 

I was worth something once, per- 
haps, but so much travel has dulled 
my faculties. I have always suffered 
from the throat, and it was thought 
the climate of Naples might prove 
beneficial to me. 

Do not take too seriously what I 
write to-night ; I am in a melancholy 
mood and consequently everything 
looks gloomy to me ; this happens to 
everybody. 

It makes me happy to think that in a 
month more we shall be settled in 
Paris, which I hope we shall never 
leave. 

Cropped ears have their charms for 
the one who crops them. Scold me 
well ; do not hesitate to say all you 



82 LETTERS OF 



wish to me ; that will keep me in an 
almost healthy frame of mind. I am 
tired myself of idling ; your words 
make me angry with myself, with ev- 
ery one. I should have gone to sleep 
without your reproaches, which I under- 
stand and appreciate. Do you suppose 
that I have not formed a hundred pro- 
jects, but to what purpose ! 

Yesterday I was almost cheerful 
listening to Pergolesi's " Stabat," which 
was repeated for the Princess Marguer- 
ite, and of which the divine harmonies 
filled my heart and my ears ; to-night I 
am depressed. 

Mamma and Dina are at last at San 
Carlo. I have remained at home, 
which has caused a little domestic skir- 
mish in which I have played an entirely 
passive part. For some time past I 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 83 

have been so sensible and quiet that it 
is dreadful. I am bored ; but what 
would you have me do there ? 

I cannot amuse myself by going wild 
over a fool or even over a man of sense. 
That sort of amusement has charms for 
me only as an accessory. 

I believe I am writing nonsense ; take 
from my letter only what is proper. 

The serenades continue. Would 
you deprive me of that Spanish amuse- 
ment ? Good heavens, how severe you 
are ! 

There are an infinity of things that 
keep me at Naples ; I will write you all 
about them. There is nothing in them, 
but they help to pass away the time. 

Good-by. Scold me oftener ; that 
does me an immense amount of good. 

Devotedly yours. 



84 LETTERS OF 



To her Aunt. 

Florence. 
Dear Aunt : 

Do me the favor to manage so that we 
may remain some time longer in Flor- 
ence, which is the most beautiful city 
in the world. Bring the money your- 
self, I beg of you ; be amiable. 

Have they not yet sent anything from 
Paris ? Write or telegraph ; it is bet- 
ter to telegraph. I cannot remain with- 
out gowns, especially here, and my 
dresses are all old. I do not look like 
myself. Telegraph to Worth, to La- 
ferriere, to Reboux, to Ferry, to Ver- 
tus. Simply tell them to send me 
what I have ordered, that is all. There 
will be a ball here, perhaps, — and you 
cannot imagine how anxious I am to 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 85 

look well. Do not be uneasy about 
my face ; it will be beautiful. My 
complexion is fresh ; ask mamma if 
she does not think so. For a week 
past I have been going to bed early 
and I shall continue to do so. But it 
is atrocious to be in want of gowns, 
especially at Florence, where they 
dress so elegantly. 

There is no comparison between 
this place and Naples. And then, when 
I am not dressed according to my 
taste, I am out of temper, and when I 
am out of temper I am ugly. 

Love to you and papa. Good-by. 

P. S. — Do not give rein to your 

imagination ; X is not at Florence, 

and it is not he that is in question. 



86 LETTERS OF 



To the Marquis of C . 

June 26. 

We had indeed already heard the 
dreadful news, Marquis, but, announced 
by you, the impression produced upon 
us was doubly painful. We are pro- 
foundly touched by your thinking of 
us at such a time. 

I do not wish to weary you by con- 
ventional expressions of condolence, 
but I want you to be persuaded that 
your grief has found an echo in our 
hearts. I should like, too, to say to 
your mother, who is so good and so 
sympathetic, that in her great affliction 
God has granted her a supreme bless- 
ing in the excellent son whom we 
know and who so well deserves such 
a mother. 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 87 

I should like to give expression to 
all the words of sympathy that crowd 
from my heart to my lips, but consoling 
words do not console. We hope, dear 
Marquis, to see you next year x if not 
gay, as formerly, at least recovered 
from your grief. 

Good-by, and God keep you. 




THE HORATII TAKING THE OATH OF THE " GRUTLI, OR RECONCILIATION, 
WHICH IT WILL BE YOUR PART TO BRING ABOUT. 



88 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 89 



To M- 



And why is there a coolness between 
the two friends you mention ? I had 
supposed that the cord which unites 
them in my picture was firmly tied (!). 

My treatment at Enghien, where I 
go every morning at eight o'clock to 
remain until one in the afternoon, tires 
me excessively. And then, I detest 
Paris ! It is a bazaar, a cafe, a gam- 
bling house, where one can only 
breathe, after one has been settled for 
a month in a house between a court and 
a garden. If you keep your windows 
closed you suffocate ; if you open them 
you are deafened by the noise of the 
vehicles. 

] An allusion to a sketch of Marie Bashkirtseff's, 
representing the two friends bound together by a 
cord fastened at its extremities around the neck of 
each, and having a heart hanging from its center. 



9© LETTERS OF 



My poor mandolin gives forth only 
plaintive sounds ; but then all stringed 
instruments awaken innumerable sad 
recollections. 

So, then, that good M says noth- 
ing bad about me ? See what an excel- 
lent young man ! 

Well, I shall be more just to him for 
the future. 

As for the place you will occupy in 
the other world, your natural goodness 
would take you to Heaven, but your 
dealings with the damned will relegate 
you 

Intra color che son sospesi. 

Ah ! Monsieur, so you take an inter- 
est in Euterpe ? That does not sur- 
prise me in so distinguished a man. 

Since you asked me to do so, I will 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 9 1 

willingly give you the heart-rending 
details of M 's visit, and the conse- 
quences to which it led — for Her. 
Your friend, then, was as much of an 
CEil de Boeuf, of a Talon Rouge, as 
ever, and was followed, as usual, by his 
lackey, like Milord followed by his ser- 
vant. It was a wise precaution to take. 
I pointed him out to the young person, 
who uttered a loud cry and ran away as 
fast as her legs could carry her, so 
that not one of the velocipedes which 
I dispatched in her pursuit was able to 
overtake her, and I have never since 
been able to find out what has become 
of her. 

Instead of being moved by this dis- 
aster your friend continues to go to 
Monaco, sometimes with the ladies of 
our party, but always with his friend 



92 LETTERS OF 



F , and followed by a page. After- 
ward Milord - and - his - servant break- 
fasted with us, but being on the eve of 
our departure we had nothing to set 
against his imposing train but a house 
in confusion, for which I shall never be 
able to console myself. 

I must not forget to shower blessings 
upon you, according to my promise, in 
returning you the picture, a little in- 
jured, it is true, by the ravages of time. 

As for the question in regard to 
which you promise me so touching a 
discretion, I will only ask you — do 
you by chance take me for the young 
harpist ? 

We shall remain ten days longer 
in Paris, waiting for the people from 
Nice, after which I do not know what 
we shall do until September, when we 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 93 

shall, perhaps, go to Biarritz ; they say 
there will be a great many fashionable 
people there. 

Do you still tame horses ? Believe 
me, they are better than men. When 
a horse kicks you, you at least have 
the satisfaction of knowing that you 
have not been kicked by an ass. 

Good-by. Ah, I was near forget- 
ting to tell you that I think your letters 
charming, and to beg you not to neglect 
to write to me — under any pretense. 



To M. de M- 



SCHLANGENBAD, BaDEHAUS. 

This photograph is so pretty that 
I cannot resist the desire of letting 
you see to what a charming person you 
have been wanting in amiability. And 



94 LETTERS OF 



I, who had assigned you a place in the 
Inferno among the Sospesi, with Virgil 
and all those who, notwithstanding 
their virtues, cannot be admitted into 
Paradise, yet who, on the other hand, 
cannot be sent to hell, and are, conse- 
quently, suspended between the two ! 
You deserve to be beside Lucifer him- 
self at the very bottom of the pit. 

Would you be displeased to be one 
of the trinity ? J You would not, is it 
not so ! 

P. S. — If any of your friends are 
suffering from the nerves, send them 
here ; mamma finds great relief from 
the waters of Schlangenbad. 

1 An allusion to the illustration which faces the pre- 
ceding letter (see page 88). 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 95 

To the Same. 

Paris, Grand Hotel. 
Monsieur : 

I had a mind not to write to you 

again, Monsieur de M , but I 

must always be writing something — no 
matter what — to some one. Women 
are often tiresome correspondents ; if 
they are amiable they bore you to death 
with parodies of Madame de Sevigne ; 
if they are ill-natured you must pay 
strict attention to what you say or else 
run the risk of being torn to pieces, 
Heaven knows by what sort of teeth — 
filled, broken, false — only to think of it 
makes me ill. 

I see no one left to write to, then, 
but you, who are my friend and 
brother. Therefore, I accept your 
offer with gratitude. 



96 LETTERS OF 



Do you know that I, too, was to 
have gone to England to see my friend, 

Lady P , but the poor woman has 

just died, and we shall doubtless not 
take the journey now. 

We have just returned from Wies- 
baden, where we spent some days after 
our return from pretty Schlangenbad, 
and where we met some very agreeable 
Russians — many old friends and some 
new acquaintances. Countess Loris 
MelikorT is staying there while her 
husband is playing the soldier in Asia. 

My grandfather met there his old 
friend Prince Repnine, and after that 
he did not want to leave the place. In 
short, it was delightful, delightful ; but 
alas, Monsieur, there were too many 
women ! 

We are here, awaiting a decision 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 97 

of one kind or another. My throat is 
almost well, but I have been ordered 
to a warm climate. I do not know 
what we are going to do, and I hate 
myself. This is a very ^disagreeable 
feeling ; one is like the thin woman 
taking a sea bath ; it is no use for her 
to run, her legs go with her. 

I have an excursion to propose to 
you to a much more agreeable place 
than that wretched Sorrento. And 
pray believe that I am in earnest. The 
project is to walk from Nice to Rome, 
stopping at all the interesting places 
on the way. We could make the jour- 
ney in twenty-four days without exces- 
sive fatigue. The elder people would 
drive, I would go on foot, all in one 
party. I am waiting for letters from 
England. What do you say to that ? 



9 8 LETTERS OF 



In any case we shall see each other in 
Italy, and I count upon receiving from 
you a clap on the shoulder, which will 
be energetically given, to judge from 
your exhibitions of strength at Naples ; 
so that the sole idea of shaking hands 
with you and taking you to present 
your respects to mamma makes me 
cry out. 

Well I will do all I can, as friend- 
ship commands. 

Regards from all. 



To Mile. Colignon. 

Sunday, October 14. 

Ah, dear friend, how is it possible 

not to adore Verdi ! I know nothing 

more wonderful than his " Ai'da." Each 

chord, each phrase speaks. I truly 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 99 

think one could understand the whole 
story and know in what country the 
action was taking place without seeing 
the scenery or hearing the words. It 
is in this sense that I place " Ai'da " 
above all the other music I know. And 
what melody, what force, what delicacy 
of sentiment ! 

You know that I do not speak from 
a scientific point of view. I could not 
do so, and it would be so much the 
worse if I could. One is more — one 
enjoys a work more thoroughly when 
one does not know how it is com- 
posed. 

As I do not intend to devote myself 
seriously to music, I have learned only 
so much of it as a person of taste who 
does not intend to compose should 
know. 



ioo LETTERS OF 



It was this evening, as I was playing 
some airs from " A'ida " on my mando- 
lin, that I first realized how beautiful 
the opera is. I had forgotten the 
music. Music disposes to life, to 
gayety, to tears, to love, in short to 
whatever agitates, pleases, or torments, 
while drawing is an occupation which 
raises one above earthly things and 
renders one indifferent to everything 
but one's art. 

They made me take a drive in the 
Bois ; the weather was delightful and 
the air so balmy that I fancied myself 
in Italy. It will be necessary to give 
notice for Sunday. 

It vexes me to lose a day every 
week in this way ; it bores me to be 
doing nothing. 

No doubt the study of music re- 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. ioi 

quires as much application, as much 
patience, but, however little one plays, 
whether one plays to please one's self 
or for others, one must have a genuine 
feeling for it. 

However devoted one may be to 
drawing or painting, they w.ould never 
cause one 

It makes me wild to be unable to 
express my thoughts ! 

And then what I have to say is very 
trite. All I wish is to make known 
what my own views on these matters 
are. 

The music of " Ai'da " is like that 
of the " Gretchen " of Max. That 
speaks, that tells you the whole story 
even to its slightest details. So that 
one could tell, merely by hearing the 
music, whether the scene was laid in a 



LETTERS OF 



room or out of doors, whether the time 
was day or night. 

While I am discoursing about these 
abstruse matters, " France awaits 
breathlessly " the result of the elec- 
tions. For they take place to-day. 
The marshal must have dined with a 
bad appetite last night. I regret so 
much to have no one to keep me au 
courant of all these machinations. 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 103 



I878. 



To M. dc M- 



Paris, 67 Avenue de l'Alma. 

I hasten, dear Monsieur, to dispel 
your natural anxiety ; the cakes have 
arrived ; they are superb and we thank 
you for them ; they are so beautiful 
that one feels tempted to have them 
put in a frame. 

We have met with a great misfor- 
tune ; our dear doctor, Wolitski, whom 
you have seen at our house, died last 
Saturday at two o'clock in the morn- 
ing. He was one of our best friends 
and grandpapa's godson, and we have 
all grown up under his eyes. You may 
well imagine that such a loss is irre- 
parable. Friends like him are rare in- 



104 LETTERS OF 



deed. Grandpapa, ill himself, as you 
know, cried all day and is still very 
sad. But I will not dwell longer on so 
gloomy a subject. 

You ask me which I prefer — art or 
the beautiful in nature ; I prefer 
neither ; I admire both equally, but 
the beautiful in nature gives complete 
delight only when one is conscious of 
artistic power — which is a great, a very 
great power. 

There is a person here who wishes 
to know everything bad that is said 

about a certain M. L . Do you 

know him ? 

You know Princess S has sailed 

for America, where, they say, she in- 
tends to marry. That would be in- 
deed an extraordinary termination. 

How happy you must be at the 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF, 105 

thought of going to Rome ! I confess 
that I envy you, although envy is a 
base passion. 

Tell me all about the king's funeral, 
and about everything else beside. Be 
good and write me all the news — and all 
the old things you can think of. I shall 
read your letter while I eat, for it is 
only then that I am free. 

They send you a thousand kind re- 
gards. Are we to have a carnival ? 



To the Same, 

My white dog Pincio, which you have 
seen at our house, has just been stolen. 
I think they have taken him out of 
Paris. I am writing in all directions, 
in the hope that some one of the char- 
itable souls to whom I address myself 



io6 LETTERS OF 



may catch the wretches who have taken 
him. 

Can you imagine anything more base 
than to steal a dog? Such an action 
is simply vile. What ! To take from 
its home a creature which is attached 
to its master, which is more intelligent 
than many bipeds, but which is unable 
to defend itself — this is the acme of 
meanness and wickedness. 

You are happy. You have no dog 
to be stolen from you. Well, patience ! 

What is to be done ? I have adver- 
tised in the papers, offering a reward of 
two hundred francs for his recovery, 
but without result. Are not such peo- 
ple a disgrace to humanity ? 

Console me by speaking to me of 
Italy. 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 107 



To Mile. B . 

How good and amiable you are, my 
dear Jeanne, to think of me in these 
moments when one forgets everything! 

Mamma and I are enchanted at your 
happiness, for I take it for granted that 
you are happy. 

Is it possible you have been in 
Nice ? I knew nothing of it ; no one 
told me anything. But tell me, how 
did you find our house, since you did 
not know our address ? 

I spent the winter in Rome, where I 
studied painting. 

When I see you again, I will paint 
your portrait. Give me news of all 
your family, and send me, without fail, 
the likeness of your fiance. I must see 
the happy man who has won for his 



io8 LETTERS OF 



wife Jeanne, who, both in mind and 
heart, is a treasure. Show him these 
words, and tell him they were written 
by one who never flatters and who 
never exaggerates. 

This winter, in Rome, I was asked 
in marriage by an Englishman and by 
two Italian counts. But I refused 
them all. They loved me, but I did 
not love them ; that was all. Besides, 
I did not wish to marry so young ; I 
am scarcely seventeen. How old are 
you ? 

You ask my address. Direct my 
letters to " Mile. Marie Bashkirtseff, at 
her villa at Nice, 55 bis, Promenade des 
Anglais." My aunt has given me this 
villa. They will forward me my letters 
from Nice if I am elsewhere. That is 
the safest way. 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 109 

Answer quickly, and tell me where 
and when you are to be married, and 
the name of your future husband, and 
send me his photograph. 

I have been back in Nice for a fort- 
night ; the city is deserted, and I take 
refuge in my books. Perhaps you do 
not know how serious and studious I 
am by nature, wild and gay as I can be 
when there is any cause for merriment. 

When and where shall I see you ? 

It is so good of you not to have for- 
gotten me. Rest assured that if any- 
thing particular should happen, I will 
tell you of it without delay. 

Good-by ; a thousand kind regards 
to your family from all of us. I em- 
brace you with my whole heart, and I 
wish you every kind of happiness, pos- 
sible and impossible. 



LETTERS OF 



To the Same. 

Paris, Avenue de l'Alma. 
Dear Jeanne : 

I have not been able to answer your 
letter until to-day, for it was not until 
to-day that we met our relatives, who 
gave us your address. I have thought 
of you very often, I wished so much to 
write to you after receiving the news 
of your marriage. 

I am able to do so only a year after 
that event. I hope you will not think 
my silence was owing to indifference or 
forgetfulness. 

I hear great news about you. Write 
to me soon ; I shall not lose your 
address again, and I will be able to 
answer you. 

We are almost settled at Paris. I 



MARIE BASI1KIRTSEFF. in 

spend my time painting and go very 
little into society which, indeed, bores 
me greatly. We all send you our love 
and hope you will continue to be as 
happy as you have been up to the 
present. 

Good-by, dear ; I send you my like- 
ness in case you should have forgotten 
the face of Marie Bashkirtseff. 



To her Motlier. 

Soden, August I. 
Dear Mamma : 

First, pray give me news of grand- 
papa's health ; * next, Soden, by dint 
of being dull, has become amusing. I 
will tell you all about it. One of the 

1 Her grandfather had received a stroke of paraly- 
sis. 



LETTERS OF 



most chic families of St. Petersburg 
arrived here at the same time as old 
Prince Ouroussoff, whose sister, who is 
married to M. Maltzoff, is the intimate 
friend of our Empress, as you know. 
The Russian ladies of our circle im- 
agine that the indifference of the two 
little German princes, whom I have al- 
ready mentioned to you, mortifies me. 
''That spoiled child," said Madame 

A , "who is accustomed to see her 

slightest caprice obeyed, is mortified 
by the coldness — only apparent evi- 
dently — of these gentlemen." 

For my part such a thing had never 
even occurred to me, dear mamma. I 
am only amused to see how prone 
people are, both at Soden and else- 
where, to credit one with sentiments, 
opinions, and thoughts which one 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 113 

has never entertained. For a couple 
of days, indeed, my thoughts wan- 
dered occasionally to the little princes, 
but at the end of that time, I had 
ceased to think about them. But since 
people have spoken of the matter, I 
will confess to you that I have never 
even taken a £Ood look at them. 
However, I can inform you that the 
younger (eighteen), Hans, is tall, 
blonde, has a large, rather delicate 
nose, small eyes, a shrewd mouth, wears 
no mustache, walks headlong, and has 
the expression of a young wolf. 

The other, August ( twenty-four or 
twenty-five), who is smaller, is dark, 
has very fine eyes, a slight black droop- 
ing mustache — indeed in his whole 
person there is something of a droop — 
a velvety skin, such as I do not think I 



H4 LETTERS OF 



have ever before seen in a man ; a 
handsome mouth, a regular nose, 
neither round nor pointed, nor aquiline 
nor classic — a nose of which, too, the 
skin is delicate, a thing which is ex- 
ceedingly rare ; and a very pale com- 
plexion, which would be beautiful, if it 
were not the result of ill health. Both 
princes have handsome hands — aristo- 
cratic and well-cared for. 

How, then, would I describe them if 
I looked well at them ! 

Write to me every day, and tell me 
all about grandpapa. 

Aunt joins me in love to all. 

To the Same. 

Soden, Saturday, August 3. 
Have I mentioned M. Muhle, the 
landlord, to you? Well, M. Muhle 



MA FIE BA SHKIR TSEFF. • 1 1 5 

pretends that it was got up on our 
account. You know there was a ball 
at the Kurhaus to-night, and this poor 
Muhle, who is always drunk, promised 
himself that the entertainment would 
prove a brilliant success. Of course 
we all went. 

We had scarcely taken our places 
when I caught sight of a gentleman 
whom I had already seen once or twice 
of a morning, driving an odd-looking 
tilbury, with a little groom. Well, 
this gentleman came and joined us. 
He is the Baron — I have forgotten 
what — son of I don't know what official 
of the place, a grand seignior, accord- 
ing to what I am told. But I refused 
to dance, and, as he insisted, I tried to 
prove to him that dancing is undigni- 
fied, that that exercise is one of the 



n6 LETTERS OF 



most convincing proofs of the deca- 
dence of the great human family. Fin- 
ally, I talked politics to him, spoke of 
the war in the East, etc., etc. Muhle 
was vexed, because by refusing to 
dance with this pink and white young 
man, I offended the young man, who 
immediately left Soden. 

Every one joked so much about the 

Prince of H that it makes me laugh 

now to think of it. This poor prince 
deteriorates visibly. When he came 
here he was handsome, and now he is 
ugly and ill-tempered. We can all 
recognize his ring, and you should 
hear how he speaks to the waiter and 
to his poor brother. I think they will 
soon bury him. What a horrible 
malady ! 



MARIE BA SHKIR TSEFF. I i 7 



The Baron — he of the ball — is the 
chief functionary of the country, gov- 
ernor or something of the kind, I do 
not know just what. Prince Ourous- 
soff is acquainted with the said baron, 
who never ceases to tell him that to 
occupy the position he does, young 
as he is, is an honor which he 
does not deserve ; that he does not 
think he owes it at all to his own 
merits, but solely to the emperor's 
goodness. But this is only the begin- 
ning. The baron is in love with a 
young lady, and in order to make her 
acquaintance, he got up last night's 
ball. But as they told him here that 
another young man was in love with 
the girl, he went in quest of this young 
man, and, with the frankness befitting 
the occasion, begged him to tell him 



n8 LETTERS OF 



the truth, and if there was no founda- 
tion for the report, and he did not love 
the young lady, to give him his per- 
mission to seek an introduction to her ; 
but if, on the contrary, the report was 
true, to acknowledge it to be so, in 
which case his sense of justice and his 
integrity would prevent him from in- 
terfering to imperil the other's chances 
of success, he having the right of 
priority. The gentleman assured him 
that he was not at all in love with the 
girl (poor girl), and consented to his 
visiting her as much as he chose. 

The young girl — was I ; the gentle- 
man — D . 

The baron is tall, fair, stout, florid. 
You know that kind of men generally 
admire me and that I as generally 
detest them. It is true, indeed, that 



MA RIE BA SFIKIR TSEFF. 1 1 9 

when I look into my heart, I find I 
do not care much more for any of 

the others. Count M was fair; 

Count B , fair ; Pacha G (what 

a name !), fair ; P , fair ; Count 

M , fair, and finally Baron S , 

fair. A , who was only a boy, was 

also fair. 

I miss you all very much and my 
studio still more. 

Good-by ; kiss grandpapa for me. 



To tlie Same. 

Soden, August 6. 
Dear Mamma : 

I am going to tell you about my 
childish doings. This morning I went 
out to take a walk and entered a Catho- 



2Q LETTERS OF 



lie church. I availed myself of the ab- 
solute solitude of the place to go up 
into the pulpit, to go into the choir, to 
go on the altar, and to read the prayers 
placed on the tablets of the altar ; I 
did all this by way of prayer, for I have 
a multitude of projects in which I need 
the assistance of Heaven. But the 
thought that I have read a mass trans- 
ports me. Only think, I rang the bell 
as the priests do during mass ! At all 
events, my intentions were not bad. 

I have had a long conversation with 
Prince OuroussofT. As we were talk- 
ing the prince suddenly said to me, 
''There are the Ganzes." You remem- 
ber that I gave the name " Ganz " to 
the two German princes. You can 
imagine that I could not remain serious 
when this dignified person, this states- 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 



man, stopped in the middle of an ex- 
planation of the secret causes of the 
war to utter so simple a phrase as, 
" There are the Ganzes." The word 
"Ganzes" made me think of the Ger- 
man gam. 1 

I made a sketch of the princes (as I 
did at Nice), so like them that the 
waiter, who was passing with a tray, 
stopped short before the canvas and 
began to laugh and gesticulate in such 
a way that my vanity as an artist was 
indeed flattered. 

Then Madame A came. We 

stood at the window, which is our bal- 
cony. Ganz passed and repassed to 

look at us. Madame A played the 

coquette, laughing in a way that was 
in very bad taste. How stupid it is 

1 A goose 



122 LETTERS OF 



that I cannot make you share my 
amusement on the subject of the 
Ganzes. 

Good-by. With love. 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 123 



1879. 

ToM — 



Paris, 63 Avenue de l'Alma. 

Your letter has this one good result 
for you — that it irresistibly provokes 
advice which I find it impossible to re- 
frain from giving you, even though it 
has not been asked : 

1 st. Never speak of rights which 
have been granted you, or of favors 
which have not been refused to you, to 
speak more exactly. 

2d. Never return a guitar in bad 
condition. 

3d. Never wait until you are in- 
sulted, if you really wish to fight. 

And finally, be a good Christian and 
write without the hope of having your 



124 LETTERS OF 



letters read or answered, or that they 
will not be made public. 



To Mile. Colignon, 

May. 
My Dear Friend: 

I ought to tell you that having 
finished painting at four o'clock I have 
spent the time since then in reading 
" The Nabob," a novel of Alphonse 
Daudet. It is very interesting, and 
this sort of nabob would resemble one 
of another sort if he were refined and 
ennobled. I know that the comparison 
is not a flattering one, and it is for this 
reason I say that he must be refined, en- 
nobled, spiritualized. That is, I am 
not quite certain, I distrust my own 
judgment ; when one is romantic, I 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 125 

think one is apt to take affectation 
for distinction, and when any one seems 
to me strong and out of the common, I 
fear that he may be only rustic, vulgar, 
bourgeois. Happy, happy he who 
knows how to express his thoughts ! 
I write to you as if I were writing in 
my journal. No, not that ; if I were to 
trouble myself as to the waj ? in which I 
should express in my journal all the 
fancies that come into my head it 
would be indeed too ridiculous. 

Well, then, listen. As to fancies, 
look at the simple-minded Joyeuse in 
the Nabob ; you have no doubt ob- 
served that in the matter of imagina- 
tion he resembles me exactly ; I, too, 
can weave out of a word a novel, ten 
novels, twenty novels, and all in a 
second's time. Some of them, how- 



126 LETTERS OF 



ever, last for weeks. No, there are 
moments of lassitude when one would 
like to end everything ; and to end 
everything there are only two ways — 
to die or to fall in love. 

Ah, if you knew how weary I am of 
this life of sadness, in which every- 
thing crosses us, everything evades us, 
everything mocks us ! 

Devotedly yours. 



To her Brother. 

Paris, November. 
Dear Paul : 

M. Gavini sent us two tickets to-day, 

and we went to the new Chamber. I 

like Versailles better. One meets more 

people whom one knows when all are 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 127 

obliged to leave by the same train. 
Here every one goes away when he 
chooses, and there is not the amusing 
sight of the people all going out to- 
gether, as in the other. The visitors 
are more fashionable than at Versailles, 
but the boxes are a little like those at 
the theater — all alike ; and the Presi- 
dent's box, in which we were, differs 
in no way from the others. 

Every one was in his usual place. 

C looked bent and languid ; Gam- 

betta seemed to me thin ; Bescherelle 
ran about as usual. I examined the 
magnificent Gobelins and the frightful 
statuary. 

Rouher made his appearance in the 
Chamber — the Chamber at Paris, the 
old legislative body — for the first time 
to-day since the death of the unfortu- 



128 LETTERS OF 



nate prince. He must have had strange 
visions. 

It pains me to think how this man 
must have suffered since the prince's 
death ; he must be very unhappy. 

G told me he was vexed with him 

for not pointing out to him the box 
in which I was. 

Yesterday we dined with M. M . 

I complimented Gaillard on his Chant 
des I'aces latines, published in Madame 
Adam's Review. He is a young man 
from Avignon, with irregular features 
and a Saracenic cast of countenance, 
and a lock of hair standing up on 
his head that, with his pompous- 
ness and exaggerated Southern lan- 
guor, gave him an absurd air. I 
chatted with him and he proposed 
to me to do something for the 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 129 

Review — to translate for it from the 
Russian. 

You may imagine that I was de- 
lighted, and that I will do it whenever 
he wishes. 

Ah ! I forgot to tell you that this 
morning mamma had a great success at 
the Russian church. The Grand Duke 
Nicholas saluted her and spoke to her. 
The Grand Duke asked her if any mem- 
ber of her family was decorated with 
the order of Saint George. (The occa- 
sion of the mass was the fete of the 
Chevaliers of Saint George.) Mamma 
answered that during the war of the 
Crimea, in the storming of the Mala- 
koff, her brother, at the time hardly six- 
teen, was decorated by him on the field 
of battle. The Grand Duke recalled 
the fact and was extremely gracious, say- 



3° LETTERS OF 



ing that heroism was a family trait, 
since she had not been afraid to leave 
the house with such frightful weather. 
Good-by. With love. 



To M. X- 



You ask me, my friend, how I re- 
ceived the great news. 

I received it with murmuring. Hav- 
ing put myself outside all that consti- 
tutes the life of women, I can speak 
from the height on which I stand with- 
out that feeling of delicacy which pre- 
vents one from expressing one's mind 
freely in things where one's self is con- 
cerned. 

What has happened to you, then ? 
Are you in the case of the singer who 
retires from the stage while people can 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 131 

still say, What a pity ! This idea 
pleases me ; if you have taken the step, 
however, without this powerful reason, 
I should see that I was mistaken in 
you. I took you for a public monu- 
ment, a possession of the nation. Im- 
agine yourself the Arc de Triomphe or 
the Louvre passed into the hands of a 
private individual. I would forgive 
you for it only in the case that I 
were the person favored, just as I 
should think it monstrous if those 
monuments were given to any one but 
me — which would be equally extraor- 
dinary, but excusable in my eyes. You 
deceive yourself, my friend ; remember 
your past. I know very well that you 
are saying to yourself, "In my case it 
is different " — as every one does who 
takes the same step. 



I3 2 LETTERS OF 

I shall have no more consideration 
for you, certain as I am that nothing 
can turn you from the new path, that is 
to say, the same old path — the same 
piece of music, only that this time you 
will play the base, you will be the ac- 
companiment — to the ball, to the play. 
But these warnings are in vain ; nothing 
in the world could prevent the event ; 
a man who has inspired so many pas- 
sions, broken so many hearts, been 
false to so many vows, must of neces- 
sity marry. It is an expiation. 



To her Brother. 

Paris, Wednesday, December 10. 
Dear Paul : 

We have been to the Dominican 
Convent to see Father Didon. 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 133 

Need I tell you that Father Didon 
is the preacher who for the last two 
years has been rising so rapidly into 
fame and of whom all Paris is just 
now talking? He had expected us. 
As soon as we arrived they sent to 
notify him and we waited in a little re- 
ception room with glazed walls and 
floor, furnished with a table, three 
chairs, and a small stove. I saw his 
portrait yesterday and I already knew 
that he had fine eyes (a beauty which 

L P does not possess). He 

entered looking very amiable, very 
much like a man of the w r orld, and very 
handsome in his beautiful white woolen 
robe, which reminded me of the gowns 
I wear in the house. But for his ton- 
sure his head would resemble P. de 
C.'s. He looks brighter, however, his 



134 LETTERS OF 



eyes have a franker look, and his atti- 
tude is more natural, though extremely 
dignified. His features begin to grow- 
heavy and his mouth has the same 
disagreeably crooked look that C.V 
has. But he is very distinguished- 
looking, without any of the exagger- 
ated charm of the Creole ; he carries 
his head erect ; he has a pale com- 
plexion, a fine forehead, beautiful 
white hands ; a gay, and even, as far as 
possible, a jovial air. One would like 
to see him with a mustache. Not- 
withstanding his dignified manner, he 
is very witty. One can see plainly 
that he is fully aware of his popular- 
ity, that he is accustomed to adora- 
tion, and that he is sincerely delighted 
with the sensation he creates every- 
where ! 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 135 

Mother M had naturally written 

to him, telling him what a wonder he 
was going to see, and I spoke to him 
about painting his portrait. 

He did not refuse, although he said it 
would be difficult, almost impossible — 
a young girl painting the portrait of 
Father Didon- — he is so much before 
the public — so much talked about. 

But it is precisely for that reason, 
idiot ! 

I was presented to him as a fervent 
admirer of his. I had never either seen 
him or heard him speak before, but I 
imagined him just as he was, with the 
same inflections of voice, at times low 
and persuasive, at times so loud as to 
be almost startling, even when convers- 
ing on ordinary subjects. 

This is a portrait that I feel thor- 



136 LETTERS OF 



oughly capable of executing, and if it 
could be arranged I should esteem my- 
self very fortunate. 

This devil of a monk cannot be very 
good, I think. Even before seeing 
him I was a little afraid of him. That 
would be disagreeable — a monk ! A 
person who might acquire an influence 
over me, and that is a thing I do not 
at all desire. 

He promised to come and see us, 
and for a moment I had the hope he 
would keep his promise. 

But that was foolish, and all that I 
desire now is that he should consent to 
sit for me. 

Nothing in the world would better 
serve to further my ambition as an 
artist. 

With love. 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 137 

l880. 

To A M . 



34 Avenue Montaigne, 

Paris, Saturday, July 3. 

I have hesitated long before sending 
this. You yourself have so well under- 
stood that I could not write to you 
that you have disguised, even to your- 
self, the request that I should do so 
under an appeal to my good feelings 
in general — a delicacy of sentiment un- 
conscious on your part, but for which I 
am obliged to you. 

If the question were simply to answer 
the letter of a young man who is in 
love, I should not answer it. 

So then, let us understand each other 
well. This is not a letter, I do not 



I3 8 LETTERS OF 



know whether I flatter you or not in 
supposing you capable of grasping the 
distinction. You are young, and you 
seem to be the victim of a genuine 
passion. (We shall see later whether 
this is the case or not.) That goes a 
great way. It would please me to im- 
prove a fellow-being, by exercising over 
him whatever good influence I might 
possess. This would be a serious and 
an interesting undertaking ; a noble 
task, which I should always be willing 
to undertake. This, then, is what 
makes me write ; this, and an irresistible 
inclination to laugh a little at your 
stratagems; this is an easy triumph, 
however. 

Listen, then — the want of candor, 
whether in important matters or in 
trifles, is equally repugnant to me. 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 139 

What also inspires me with a doubt as 
to the genuineness of the feeling you 
profess to entertain for me is that this 
feeling, had it been genuine, would 
have opened up to you a superior world, 
as it were, and would have endowed 
you, for the time, at least, with facul- 
ties which would make you comprehend 
that with natures like mine a man 
would find favor only by laying aside 
all artifice, — but do not try this, — by 
laying bare his heart and his life as he 
would before God. 

And you — what do you do ? 

Do you think, then, that real facts, 
however insignificant they might be, 
would amuse me less than your little 
inventions — even though they should 
be interesting to me only as human 
documents ! And you still speak of 



14° LETTERS OF 



confiding your sorrows to me as if I 
had forbidden you to do so. You 
quote the Manual which you do not 
understand. 

You are only a child. 

The moment in which I showed you 
so much kindness as to give you the 
choice between an immediate dismissal 
and a delay of six months, you should 
have paid me the compliment of taking 
me for your patron and counselor. 
That is a role which one never refuses, 
however proud one may be. 

You might even have kept me in- 
formed of your doings, in order to 
spare my mind the fatigue of seeking 
to discover the truth, in case I should 
care to discover it. 

Here is a great deal of talk, you will 
say, about silly trifles, like the tele- 



MARIE BASHK1RTSEFF. 141 

graphic dispatches which required your 
immediate presence ; and that later 
letter (which you had the time to 
wait for), where I do not know, and 
which made it unnecessary for you to 
go away — innocent anachronism. 

I grant that there was no imperative 
reason to make you go away, and that, 
while your heart had some part in the 
matter, it was right that you should 
think, too, of its practical side. This 
was quite natural. But why disguise 
this prose, honest enough in itself, un- 
der the pretense of a great passion. 
This was a want of consideration for 
yourself. For it was certainly remark- 
able that events should have all coin- 
cided so that you should be there just 
in time to receive your relatives' com- 
mission. 



I4 2 LETTERS OF 



How simple you are ! A lie when it 
is not managed with adroitness attracts 
the attention like a glaring color, and a 
useless lie is as disgusting as a base 
action. 

Why say, for instance, that X s 

apartment is immense ? I know it is 
only a moderate-sized room. This 
trifle proves to you that there are no 
trifles. It is sufficient to analyze a 
single drop of water to know what 
are the properties of the whole 
spring. 

I shall not destroy your letter. 

If you wish that I should undertake 
your improvement, I must have docu- 
ments, in order to know whether I 
have succeeded or not. If you are a 
good pupil you will make a true friend 
of me, and if you understand my char- 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 143 

acter you know that my friendship will 
be sincere. 

But are you worthy of all this ? 
And if things do not turn out accord- 
ing to your wishes, will you not fool- 
ishly bear me ill will for having loved 
me ? 

You have written nonsense, as you 
say, but begin over again. The ques- 
tion now is your morality, not at all 
your worldly projects. I consider 
you audacious to have aspired to my 
hand, but does not the proverb say 
that the soldier who does not aspire to 
become one day a marshal of France is 
a bad soldier ? 

I am conscious, finally, that what I 
ask from you is impossible. It would 
exact a complete change of character. 

They say, though I do not think so, 



144 LETTERS OF 

that love works miracles. In short, 
the easy fashion in which you have 
accepted this separation has affected 
me disagreeably. 

If you do not feel the truth of my 
sermons, I shall give up preaching 
them ; and as for you, go in peace. 

Whenever you grow impatient or, 
like a commonplace person, fancy your 
role a ridiculous one, consult the little 
Manual of the Perfect Lover ; it will 
give you the measure of your feelings. 

Let us assume as a fixed principle 
that there is no baseness in the person 
loved to which one does not try to give 
a favorable explanation ; that there is 
nothing in the world which one would 
not do for the beloved person with real 
satisfaction ; no so-called sacrifice which 
one would not make with joy. For 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 145 

love, after all, is a selfish sentiment, 
and the proof of this is that one is 
happier in loving than in being loved. 
But all this is neither required nor 
commanded ; the lover performs it nat- 
urally because he experiences a per- 
sonal satisfaction in doing so. When 
there is the least hesitation, the least 
impatience ; one should not, one cannot 
think that one loves. You will see, 
then, whether or not you will bear 
these few months of trial, — at the end 
of which there will be, after all, only an 
uncertainty, — not with patience only, 
but with pleasure. 
All this, ad libitum. 

Amen. 



I4 6 -LETTERS OF 



To M. Julian. 

Noumea, Mont Dore, 

July, August. 

Yes, citizen director, everything is 
here, even to the special costume one 
is compelled to wear, like the galley- 
slaves ; and attired in this costume it is 
that we undergo the rough treatment 
of the baths from five to seven every 
morning. The doctor at the springs 
assures me that it is beneficial, but the 
people connected with these places are 
all alike ; all they want is to get pos- 
session of one. It is a very great pity 

that T does not come. You I do 

not invite. Paris has need of you. 
But how much good a short exile here 
would do you ! 

Just fancy, there is nothing to eat. 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 147 

It is unworthy of an exalted soul to 
think of food ; but alas ! if it were not 
that I fear to become anaemic — The 
doctor tried to make me believe that I 
was so already. " Do you feel very 
weak, Mademoiselle?" he asked. " By 
no means, Monsieur," I answered. 
" Are you habitually pale ?" " On the 
contrary." " Easily fatigued?" " Not 
at all." "That makes no difference; 
you are very weak." " But how do you 
make that out, Monsieur?" I asked. 
" It is impossible to explain, but such 
is the case." 

So that, if I were not afraid of losing 
strength, I should eat even less than I 
do, so repugnant is the food. Ah ! 
succulent dishes of Lake St. Fargeau ! 
You gave me a foretaste, as it were, of 
the products of the Trompette of Mont 



148 LETTERS OF 



Dore. But how much better you 
were ! 

I must not neglect to acknowledge 
the justice of your criticisms on my 
drawing. 

My aunt sends you her best remem- 
brances. It is not to my family that 
you owe this epistle, illustrious before 
its author has become so (to copy 
Rochefort) ; you owe it to the fact 
that I want to put you in a good 
humor. 

Who would tighten the screw at a 
critical moment ? What you say about 
the fifty artisans — this employing so 
many hands on the same piece of work 
— is it not one of those maneuvers to 
brutalize the people, made use of under 
the rule of the ever-to-be-execrated 
Csesars, to extinguish the intelligence 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. M9 

of the working-classes ? You make 
use, too, of the words lead to— words 
to be regarded with suspicion since 
they were pronounced by the illustrious 
humbug who still conceals his senti- 
ments under republican flowers of 
oratory. 

For a moment I thought you had 
atoned for all those things which it 
pains me to have to reproach a good 
patriot with ; yes, for a moment I took 
this marriage of the two silhouettes for 
the greatly-to-be-desired alliance with 
the country of the Inquisition, and 
I was rejoiced at it. All the Latin 
peoples are brothers, and it would 
please me to see France extirpating 
the last vestige of — in the country in 
question. I deceived myself. 

Leave me room for hope. Then, 



15° LETTERS OF 



whatever be our differences, let us be 
true to the Republic, — Athenian, Spar- 
tan, federal, socialistic, orthopaedic, ar- 
tistic, medalistic, Tonyfic, and even Ro- 
dolphiphobic. 

Long live the Republic ! 



To her Brother. * 

Paris, 1880. 
Dear Paul : 

I am going to tell you about a pro- 
posal I have received from a prince ; 
he dined with us, and during the even- 
ing he whispered in my ear that he 
wished to speak to me. My aunt was 

chatting with C , and I consented 

to hear what he had to say. 

" Ought I to marry ? " he began. 

Do you see the trick, dear Paul ? 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 151 

"Yes, if you wish to do so," I an- 
swered. 

" I do not wish to do so." 

" Then do not marry. Is that all 
you had to say to me ? " 

" No ; I once told you that I loved 
you ; well, I love you still. You will 
understand that it is a torture for me 
to come here in the circumstances. I 
am sick of it." 

" And why are you sick of it ? I 
thought you liked it." 

" I do, but whenever I say anything 
to you, you insult me." 

" Not at all ; I am gay, and if I 
adorn our conversations with digres- 
sions, it is because, as you know, you 
leave an eternal time between your 
sentences." 

" You will not laugh at me ?" 



15 2 LETTERS OF 



" No, no, indeed ; I am very seri- 
ous." 

But instead of answering, he looked 
at me, and I saw that his eyes had dark 
circles under them, and that his fore- 
head was even paler than usual. 

" I must go away, must I not," he 
said at last, " and come here no more ? " 

"Why so?" 

" Because I love you." 

We had to speak in low tones in 
order not to be heard by the others, 
and this lent a sort of tender charm to 
our voices. 

" I have told you that I love you, 
and when one loves a young girl there 
are not twenty ways of settling the 
question, are there ? It can end only 
in one way or the other. Well, then I 
must return no more." 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 153 

" And why ? " .(I played the inno- 
cent). 

" Because I suffer too much in com- 
ing. 

Then his eyes filled with tears. 
There was something childlike and 
winning in this emotion, but the hand- 
kerchief with which he wiped his eyes 
spoiled everything. 

" Oh, come, come," I said, but with- 
out laughing, " tears are all very well, 
but they should not be wiped away by 
a bit of linen, but by — her who has 
caused them to flow." 

He made an impatient movement. 

" Everything is not rose-colored in 
this world," I resumed seriously ; " not 
by any means rose-colored. My sys- 
tem of doing what gives one pleasure — 
is good, but it is not practicable ; one 



54 LETTERS OF 



can avoid doing what pains one, but as 
for doing what pleases one " 

" Listen to me, Mademoiselle, and do 
not insult me ; do not laugh at me. 
Either I shall go away forever, or you 
must authorize me to return ; things 
cannot continue as they are now, I am 
too unhappy, I suffer too much ; I am 
ill. When a man loves a girl he must 
either marry her or part from her for- 
ever." 

" Listen," I returned, " it is easy to 
say, marry her, but to do so — that de- 
pends " 

"On whom?" 

" Why, on her, of course." 

" Well, then ? " 

(He is young and he must have felt 
a little emotion, even if he remembered 
my dowry.) 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 155 



" Well, then, for my part, I do not 
wish to engage myself ; and then I 
don't know that it is necessary to wait. 
How do I know what you are? You 
seem to be an honest man, but perhaps 
you are not one. Marriage lasts a 
long time, a very long time. I do not 
believe in your love, which, however, 
may be sincere. I should like to be 
certain that it is so. So, .you see, we 



must wait." 



" How long ? " 

" Let us see (I began to count on 
my fingers), ''five, six, — until New 
Year's day." 

" That is too long." 

" Well, then, until Christmas, let us 
say Christmas ; seven months." 

" And if, at the end of that 
time you are convinced of my 



156 LETTERS OF 



love, Mademoiselle, you will con- 
sent ? " 

" Ah, no, I do not say that, Mon- 
sieur ; that would be to engage myself ; 
I do not wish to engage myself. I do 
not love you, but this delay is neces- 
sary to enlighten us with regard to our 
mutual feelings." 

" And then you will need three 
months more to come to a decision ? - 

" Oh, no, I will tell you my decision 
immediately." 

And then I played the child, the in- 
nocent. After being by turns pensive, 
serious, and sarcastic, I spoke of my 
painting. " How could I possibly 
marry ? I must paint. And then, 
might I not die ? " 

" I will paint with you, Mademoi- 
selle." 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 157 

" Just so ; and in these seven months 
you will learn to draw." 

And then I began to praise a stu- 
dent's life ; I spoke to him of my 
dowry, saying that that had a good 
deal to do with his love. Naturally, 
he pretended to be indignant. 

11 Do you suppose that I could not 
find money if I wished ! Do I even 
know how much you have ? I scorn 
your fortune. It is yourself I love." 

Well, dear Paul, I do not love him. 
I have not even that vague sentiment 
for him which I had for X . 

" In fixing this delay of seven 
months, do you leave me room for 
hope ? " 

" You should always hope, even if 
I were to give you a decisive no. 
Besides, I have found — I want you to 



I5 8 LETTERS OF 



copy something for me which I will 
afterward correct. Here is the docu- 
ment." He agreed. 

In short, I exact no promise from 
him ; he says he loves me, and I give 
him the opportunity of finding out 
whether this is the case or not. That 
is all. It is amusing, is it not ? 

To-morrow I will write again. 

Good-by. 



To Princess K- 



What a bore it is, dear Princess, 
that you are not in Paris ! Only 
think, Gambetta is going to give a 
splendid fete. We have an invitation, 
but mamma and my aunt do not wish 
to go on account of their mourning, 



MAMIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 159 

and as I know no one among the Re- 
publicans I am in such despair at 
being obliged to give up this enter- 
tainment, — which will in truth be very 
amusing, and very odd, and very mag- 
nificent, — that I am tempted to go to 
Dieppe in quest of you. Indeed you 
should return to Paris, at least for that 
day. Dieppe is so near, only four 
hours, four times the distance to Ver- 
sailles. It is only an excursion. If 
you wish, two of us will go to see you 
to try and persuade you. Think of 
it ! the first entertainment at Leon's 
house. All the elite of the republican 
party will be there ; it will be a unique 
and, in a measure, a historic spectacle. 
Roasting an ox is nothing to the prep- 
arations they are making. What 
grieves me a little is that young A 



160 LETTERS OF 



will not be there, owing to the stupid- 
ity of his grandfather, who has taken 
it into his head to fall ill. But I can 
easily console myself for his absence. 

Come, consent ; without you I shall 
be compelled to remain at home. I 
am acquainted only with Bonapartists 
who, if I were to tell them that I was 
going to the Presidential box, would 
look on me as a positively disgusting 
person. 

Answer quickly. 

With love. 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 161 

l88l. 

To M. X . 



Monsietir: 

I send you a plan, 1 with the north 
well marked. 2 Now I will give you my 
ideas in the matter, to serve you in 
some sort as a guide. The studio 
should be two stories high and should 
have three windows, besides a sky- 
light. Below the studio another studio, 
for sculpture, on the ground floor. 

You understand that there are to be 
no living apartments in that part of the 
building. I have also marked in pen- 
cil the divisions that have occurred to 

J See plan, pages 163, 164. 

9 Reference is here made to a project entertained at 
the time by the Bashkirtseff family of building a house 
in Paris, on the Avenue Kleber. This project, how- 
ever, was never realized . 



1 62 LETTERS OF 



me ; you will see if they are practi- 
cable. 

I should like the studio to communi- 
cate with the salons. On the ground 
floor, then, a studio for sculpture, 
kitchens, etc. First floor — salons and 
studios. Second floor — bedrooms, ser- 
vants' rooms. I see that a bedroom 
and a dressing-room might be made for 
me on the first floor, and the studio 
still be large enough and my bedroom 
sixteen feet wide. Or, if you could 
manage to give the studio a regular 
form, that would be much better. 

The only thing I am particular about 
is that the studio should follow the 
salons ; and, to economize space, the 
coach-house could be put under the 
dining-room. You see that I have con- 
trived to leave space for a garden in 



/fSA 

34 tip&H^ .Afjfc 




• A. ¥* 4" ****?****• &e~t<^ u^^U^ 



'^^'*<>A^ 



163 



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34 Op^hcu^ .JltuJ^U 




s\Bere 



eio£T t - uVfra* 



W0UJd be aninner 



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164 



Sto *eroo muader 



mine. 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 165 

front of the studio by which this might 
be entered, as studios should have a 
separate entrance. If necessary, my 
bedroom and closet might be on the 
second floor, and I could enter the 
studio by the inner stairs. 

But, above all, let the principal en- 
trance be arranged so that it will be 
necessary to pass through the salon and 
the library before reaching the studio. 
Let the rooms follow one another, in 
short. 

I hope you will be able to under- 
stand these incoherencies, and excuse 
the confusion of my architectural ideas. 

Accept, Monsieur, my compliments. 

P. S. — Perhaps it would be possible 
to locate the garden (even if it should 
only have an area of 50 meters) so 
that I could work there without being 



1 66 LETTERS OF 



seen from the street. I do not insist 
upon the outside garden ; in the place 
which I have marked for it there might 
be merely a little garden two yards 
deep. 

All these, however, are only sugges- 
tions. But I think the garden would 
be well located where I have marked 
it on the plan. 

There will be necessary, besides, a 
staircase, a yard, a stable, and a coach- 
house. I should like the staircase to 
lead to the principal salon. 



To M. Julian. 

Poltava, Russia, 

May 21 (June 2). 
White draperies, sorrowful eyes, 
pale hands, an apathetic air — the king- 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 167 

dom of this country is not for me ! 
(subject of a sketch for the landscape.) 
Oh ! the horrible mastodons ! peo- 
ple whose attitudes and hands are like 
those in poor old paintings. Can one 
help being angry, then ? You are a 
great prophet, but those hundred hours 
in a railway-carriage were what I 
needed. So far, however, all I have 
gained by them is a cold. The air, de- 
lightfully pure and balmy, is too cold 
to remain long out of doors, and I keep 
inside. I have got myself into this, but 
it is none the less vexatious on that ac- 
count. If, at least, it were the severe 
majesty of the steppes ; but no, the 
country is pretty. The family are ex- 
tremely attentive — the younger ones 
think me delightful, the older ones 
think I have grown serious and quiet. 



1 68 LETTERS OF 



Five years ago I came here to display 
my first long gowns, and I was as 
noisy and brilliant as an exhibition of 
fire-works ; now I am in search of 
something between forgetfulness and 
repose. My head is full of painting 
and these people cannot understand 
the noble preoccupations of persons of 
our kind ; and then it must be confessed 
that I am used up for the present. 

Yesterday my father received a grand 
ovation, it being his fete-day. All the 
peasants assembled in the court-yard, 
cheered him, shook hands with him, 
embraced him ; they made me take off 
my hat and veil to get a better look at 
me, and after they had looked at me 
it was my turn to be cheered and 
carried in triumph. I was obliged to 
embrace a number of them. Then the 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 169 

women came ; I made my appearance 
on the balcony ; fresh enthusiasm, one 
cry drowning all the others, " A good 
husband ! " Gambetta at Cahors, in 
short. 

Then when all this crowd had drunk 
and danced, they spoke of donations 
of lands, but some one let them see 
plainly it was of no use, and that ended 
this episode. They distribute among 
these good people, it appears, so-styled 
ukases of the Emperor, compelling the 
land-owners to give them dozens of 
things. A price has also been set on 
the heads of the nobles — 50 rubles a 
head. Do you not fancy you see mine 
already at the end of a pike? In 
short, if you recall the history of the 
past years of your ancien regime, you 
will understand how things are here. 



17° LETTERS OF 



The resemblance between the two 
periods is striking — from the frightful 
condition of the people to the stupid 
blindness of the nobles. The French 
peasant sacking the chateau, saying 
that it grieves him to the heart to do 
so, but that the king commands it, is 
the brother of the Russian who pre- 
tends to have received orders to mas- 
sacre the Jews. 

Only think that I was not able to 
have an easel at Poltava. An amiable 
native went a journey of twelve hours 
by rail in search of one ; which was at 
least obliging on his part. Here there 
is only a photograph painter and there 
is no means of obtaining a canvas suf- 
ficiently large for a picture. Ah, if you 
but knew ! 

How is M. Tony Robert-Fleury ? 



MA RIE BA SHKIR TSEFF. I 7 I 

I left him ill. What if he should 
''shuffle off this mortal coil"? That 
would interfere horribly with my hab- 
its and then, joking apart, I like him 
greatly, and you also. 

P. S. — Paul has grown stout ; his 
wife is pretty, and everything goes on 
well. Dina dresses elegantly, and en- 
joys herself, and I am no longer af- 
fected by popular triumphs. This is 
serious. 



To her Father. 

August. 
Dear Father : 

After the article in the journal, Ju- 
geni Cray, it is absolutely necessary 
for me to make that image. Will you 
then be good enough to do what may 



I7 2 LETTERS OF 



be required in the matter, as I do not 
know how to set about it. Besides, 
as you are an intelligent being, I have 
recourse to you to procure me exact 
information. For instance, for what 
part of the church 1 the image is in- 
tended, its size, form, etc. For I sup- 
pose that it ought to be adapted to the 
arrangement of the interior decora- 
tions, and no doubt the principal im- 
ages have been already ordered from 
celebrated Russian artists. In short, 
try to obtain something of importance 
for me so that I may feel satisfaction 
in doing it well. I should be very 
glad if it were life-size— a Christ, for 
instance, with the features of the Em- 



1 A church built in memory of the Emperor Alex- 
ander II, at St. Petersburg, on the spot where the 
Emperor was killed. 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 173 



peror ; in fine, I place myself at the 
disposal of the committee (is it a com- 
mittee ?) for whatever image they may 
choose. 

Only, if I am to be bound to a cer- 
tain size or a certain subject, I must 
know it as soon as possible, in order to 
think of my subject and enter into the 
spirit of it. 

In short, I am sure you will arrange 
all this satisfactorily. 

I send love and congratulations to 
the Princess. 1 Good-by. Your dis- 
tinguished daughter, 

Andrey. 2 

1 Her father's sister. 

' Marie Bashkirtseff exhibited for the first time in 
the Salon of 1880, signing her picture Marie Courven- 
tin Reiss ; in the Salon of the following year, 1881, she 
signed herself Andrey, a name which she often took in 
her correspondence. It was not until 1883, when she 
felt more confident of success, that she put her real 
name to her pictures. 



174 LETTERS OF 



To M. B . 

Dear B .• 

We spent the night at Bordeaux in- 
stead of at Bayonne and I write to tell 
you that we saw Sarah in Camille. 
Twenty-five francs for a seat in the 
balcony. She acted, it is needless to 
say, as only she can act, but I should 
criticise her support very sharply. Ar- 
mand Duval was atrocious. And the 
costumes ! At the risk of breaking 
your heart I will say that she was not 
well dressed ; the gown in the first act 
was pretty enough ; that in the second 
act (the blue), was pretty, also. The 
country costume was ugly and the ball 
dress uglier still. It had a horrible 
stiff garland which did not match the 
camellias at the bottom of the skirt at 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 1 75 

all. Of course for the provinces it was 
of no consequence ; but all the same, if 
this dress cost what you say it did, 
Sarah was nicely cheated. And even 
if it had cost but a thousand francs it 
would still be ugly. I cannot under- 
stand how an artist like Sarah could 
wear such a thing. The last wrapper 
was charming, as was also the white 
pelisse. 

As for her acting, it was divine. 
But there was something in her that did 
not go down with me ; she looks too 
much like you. It is absurd to resem- 
ble another so strongly when one is 
not a relative. 

Which of the two is the copy ? 

How are your two pensioners ? 
Give them a great many messages from 
me. If you were amiable you would 



17^ LETTERS OF 



go again to 5761s Boulevard Roche- 
chouart. You see I shall not rent a 
house till about the 15th of October, 
and I should be heartbroken if any 
one carried off this paradise, with its 
fine northern exposure, from me. 
Could you not, with the tact for which 
you are distinguished, arrange so that 
the concierge might let you know — 
I do not know just how, but in such a 
way as that I could breathe here freely 
without the fear of some painter (they 
are so base) hiring the studio I covet. 
If, in order to stimulate you to do this 
for me, it is necessary for me to say that 
the gown in the fourth act was pretty, 
I will willingly do so. 

The weather is fine ; it is warm. Bi- 
arritz is lovely, lovely. 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 177 

To the Same. 

Biarritz. 



Dear B : 

The quatrain with which your letter 
begins would be worthy of you ; it is 
charming. The gloves fit very well, 
and I thank you for them ; that is 
three times two francs sixty-five cen- 
times, that I owe you. 

Yesterday Coquelin the younger 
played, and there was a great ball. 
There are only Spaniards and Russians 
here. The Spanish women are lovely, 
lovely, lovely ; as for the Russian 
women there is only one and you 
know who she is. 

It has rained for the last two days, 
and then it is the end of September ; 
every one is taking flight, and we are 



T7 8 LETTERS OF 



going to make an art tour through 
Spain — a country for which I have an 
ardent admiration — without luggage, 
like the English ; it is the most inter- 
esting country in Europe and one 
ought certainly to see it. 

Do not regret not being at Biarritz, 
which is no livelier than Trouville or 
Aix ; in your place I should take ad- 
vantage of those charming Russians 
whom you know going to Spain, to 
make the journey under such delight- 
ful conditions. But I think truly, jest- 
ing apart, that you should make it ; 
the season is altogether favorable, you 
have worked very hard, Paris is damp 
in October, you have a cough, you will 
be able to relate your Iberian, Castil- 
lian, and Andalusian adventures to 
Sarah — see how many considerations 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 179 

to induce your family to allow you to 
go, without counting that with a thou- 
sand times twenty sous the tour is 
performed as well as Camille is per- 
formed by Sarah. And then you will 
behave sensibly, being with a family 
party ; and then, you will carry my 
painting utensils in the dangerous 
mountain passes where the squirrels or 
the hinds, it does not matter which, 
as they say at Victor Hugo's, scarcely 
dare venture. Think this dazzling 
project over, then, and good-by. 
Thanks from every one for the dogs 
and the studio ; you are very sweet, as 
Madame Thiers used to say. 

Andrey, 

Future grand medalist. 



180 LETTERS OF 



To the Same. 

Dear and Illustrious B .• 

Yes, I am in Spain and in a mantilla. 
I travel through the one wearing the 
other. I visit Toledo and the Escurial, 
making studies and conquests. 

It is not impossible that I may paint 
some magnificent composition, but it is 
better not to expect too much. I think 
I can guess from Signor Juliano's hope 
of seeing me paint a great picture — I 
think I can guess, I say, that mamma 
has made a visit to the Signor Director 
and has instructed him to pretend he 
believes that I am painting here in or- 
der to make me remain in the South. 
If I am correct in attributing this 
Macchiavellian intention to your di- 
rector, I shall withdraw my confidence 
from him and bestow it on Signor 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. ibi 

Cot, who is not an accomplice of my 
family(!). You may tell him of this 
threat. 

In any case, the time I remain in 
this ill-smelling country shall be em- 
ployed in extracting- their secrets from 
Velasquez, Rivera, and other the like 
scamps. And then, equipped with all 
this knowledge, I shall paint an im- 
mense picture from nature and annihi- 
late Carolus, Tony and the other mas- 
ters. Therefore, dear boy, I beg of 
you to make arrangements for remov- 
ing the things from No. $j (should the 
abominable proprietor put me out be- 
fore January) by the 15th of October. 
I hope it will not be required. At all 
events it will be necessary to arrange 
things in Mile. Oelnitz's old room. I 
expect to be back in three weeks, unless 



LETTERS OF 



— there are plenty of balconies, guitars, 
glances, and fan-flirtings ; but work be- 
fore everything. 

I await your answer and sign myself 

humbly, 

Andrey, 

Fabricator of masterpieces. 

Successor to Velasquez, 

Painter to several foreign courts, 

And Professor of the Spanish language. 



To M. Julian. 
Picturesque Journey in Spain. 

By M. B. Andrey. 

Hotel de Paris, Seville. 
Dear Master : 

O you, who perhaps intend one day 
to travel, follow my advice, the result 
of bitter experience. 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 



In the matter of mothers, take the 
Mediterranean, and in the matter of 
aunts, her of the Travelers' Bazaar 
(Place de l'Opera), for if you are in the 
least artistic, if you have the least ten- 
dency toward what the positivists call 
poetry, if you have some hidden corner 
in your soul which aspires toward 
something higher than a grocer's shop, 
were it even Gambetta's, if you set out 
with the idea of collecting sketches, 
studies, of seeing pictures — alas and 
alas ! I am going to make you a par- 
ticipator, so to say, in my woful disap- 
pointments. 

Burgos. — What is there here, then ? 
Only a cathedral ? One must be Eng- 
lish to — Yes, I have heard it said that 
some English people went to Lausanne 
to see a cathedral. And how cold it 



1 84 LETTERS OF 



is! Detestable country! And how 
pleasant it was at Biarritz, and why 
did we leave it ? First douche. 

Valladolid. — We did not stop here ; 
they disgusted me with it by asking 
me twenty times before we reached it 
what was the name of the city at which 
I wished to stop next. 

Madrid. — A capital, at least, and the 
air is pleasant, although the sun has 
set. But the museum is heated, I 
think. No matter, quick, quick ! Let 
us go to Seville, where there are to be 
had good cow's milk and roast chicken, 
such as Marie loves, and then the cli- 
mate there is very salubrious. Behold 
my dreams of Andalusia converted into 
a pectoral paste. Is it not allowable 
to hate people a little who disgust one 
in this way with what one was prepared 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 185 



to admire ? But we shall soon go on to 
Seville, stopping to rest at Cordova, 
where the aloe and the cactus grow, 
and where the weather is warm. De- 
lightful country ! There were some 
complaints, however, at having no car- 
riage, for this walk of ten yards and 
the visit to the mosque were going to 
exhaust me. Complaints in the third 
person. There was nothing to see. 
The guide had invented it all on pur- 
pose to make us lose the train. 

Seville. — We went out to breathe 
the air and to take our bearings in the 
place, but we did not leave the princi- 
pal streets, which are sheltered ; the 
picturesque quarters, the streets broken 
up with squares and gardens, are 
frightful, on account of the wind. 

The driver did it on purpose, Did 



1 86 LETTERS OF 



we by chance (a spiteful chance) come 
here to visit the suburbs of Seville ? 

I pray Heaven to render me indiffer- 
ent to this pious trickery, but my pa- 
tience is worn out. This constant 
practice of bringing everything down 
to a bourgeois level, from tempera- 
ment ; and of considering everything 
from a hygienic point of view, from 
principle, makes me wild ; the more so 
as perhaps I am really ill. In any 
case, I have very unskillful physicians. 
In Madrid I was able to escape some- 
thing of this, thanks to the museum 
and to our friends, among them a 
young artist who worked with us and 
with whose family we became ac- 
quainted here. 

But traveling in a carriage people 
are obliged to remain together, and 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 187 



they are either continually interfering 
with one suggestion or another, for 
my benefit, or there is a dead silence. 
In default of community of thoughts 
and interests a little sprightliness at 
least would be necessary to make trav- 
eling in this manner tolerable, while I 
am like a person taking a walk who 
finds himself obliged to drag along 
cross and sleepy companions. Think 
which you would choose to accom- 
pany you to the Salon — one of your 
friends or the mother of any one of 
your pupils, I shall not specify which. 
Well, let your imagination complete 
the picture ; for the short martyrdom 
of the Salon substitute an art journey 
(O mockery !) through romantic and 
picturesque Spain, and you will have 
a faint idea — I make the greatest 



LETTERS OF 



efforts to preserve a certain amount of 
mental vigor, but even if I should force 
myself to bear it a little longer the 
spring is no longer there, the wings of 
the spirit droop and serve only to 
brush away my artistic projects and 
illusions, crumbled into dust under 
the hygienic pressure of those who 
love me. And as, contrariwise to our 
guide at Cordova and our driver at 
Seville, they do not do it on purpose, 
there is absolutely nothing to do but 
to fill a few sheets of paper with com- 
plaints and to send them to you, as if 
that could remedy anything. 

But I cherish the secret hope that 
you will send me here by the first 
courier some companion, like M. de 
Saint-Marceaux, sculptor, or M. Tony 
Robert-Fleury, painter. Was it not 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 



the intention of the latter to go this 
winter to Morocco ? Tell him to hurry, 
since he must pass through Spain — the 
vessel sails from Cadiz. 

En partant du golfe d'Otrente, 

Nous etions trente, 
Mais en arrivant a Cadiz, 

Nous nations que dix. l 

One would suffice for me. If Heaven 
does not send me some help you shall 
see me very soon. 

End of a harrowing account of a 
journey through Spain by M. B. An- 
drey. 



1 When we left the Gulf of Otranto 
We were thirty, 
But when we reached Cadiz 
We were only ten. 



19° LETTERS OF 



To her Mother. 

34 Avenue Montaigne, Paris. 
Dear Mamma : 

I arrived here in very good condi- 
tion. 

Papa desires me to let you know that 
he has been quite well all this time. 
He will tell you about our adventures 
in Warsaw and Berlin. 

The picture has been unpacked ; 
they have made a hole in it which, for- 
tunately, however, is scarcely notice- 
able. I have not yet had time to show 
it to any of the great artists. 

Tony Robert-Fleury is well and is 
preparing to set out for Switzerland ; 
up to the present I have seen only 

Julian, who is still stout, like C , and 

who sends you a thousand remem- 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 191 



brances. Mme. Gavini left Paris the day 
of my arrival, so that I have not seen 
her. Saint-Amand has gone to join his 
sister at Mont-Dore. 

Paris is empty, but I have many 
things to occupy me, among others a 
picture for the Salon. 

I send a number of things to Dina. 
Let her not complain of receiving so 
little. Papa cries like a cock on ac- 
count of the custom-house, etc., etc. 
Papa cries like a peacock at the thought 
of being encumbered with so much lug- 
gage. 

The commissions of the Princess 
have been executed. 

With love ; come soon to go to Biar- 
ritz. 



I9 2 LETTERS OF 



To Mile. Colignon. 

My Dear Fi'iend : 

Here is my answer. It shall be a 
sort of disquisition on jealousy. Why 
on jealousy ? I have not the slightest 
idea. Jealousy and monarchy are my 
favorite subjects. Can there be any- 
thing in the world more absurd than 
jealousy ! One makes one's self 
ridiculous by being jealous. You love 
a woman, she loves you ; one fine day 
she ceases to love you, but is that her 
fault ? Does she love you no longer 
because she wishes to love you no 
longer? Did she love you because 
she wished to love you ? No. Well, 
then, why torture her ? Why this 
stupid, useless rage ? For a woman or 
a man cast aside and replaced by 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 193 

another woman or man, say what you 
will, is always pitiable. And the 
ridiculous part one plays is badly dis- 
guised by the grand tragic robe. One's 
love changes or one loves another, but 
this is not because one wishes it to be 
so. It is an incomprehensible, involun- 
tary change, produced, doubtless, by 
the changes in the molecules of the 
imagination. If one is so jealous as to 
be unable to bear his jealousy any 
longer, why, let him kill them both, and 
himself afterward. 

I often ask myself if there can be 
anything in the world more disgusting 
or more ridiculous than jealousy. 
When one is jealous without cause, in 
spite of everything there remains a 
doubt in the mind ; one should then go 
to the woman and entreat her in the 



194 LETTERS OF 



name of all she holds dear and sacred 
to set this doubt at rest ; it is true that 
one is made very miserable by doing 
so, for women are great wretches and 
are always ready to torture those who 
throw themselves frankly on their 
mercy. 

My disquisition being ended — a dis- 
quisition which for the first time in my 
life faithfully expresses my thoughts — 
I embrace you, and await your reply. 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 195 



1882. 

To her Mother. 

Villa Mise Brun, Nice. 
Dear Mamma : 

We arrived safely, everything is 
charming, and I am delighted to be 
here. We are in very good spirits, 
the weather is very fine, and all I fear 
is that my dear family will come with 
their habitual bickerings. We are so 
tranquil, so sensible ! Paul, Sacha, 
and Dina overwhelm me with atten- 
tions. Vassili cooks very well. Rosa- 
lie waits on us with zeal ; the sun 
warms. In short, everything goes on 
satisfactorily in this best of worlds. 
Seize the occasion, quickly, then, and 



I9 6 LETTERS OF 



come before the carnival ; everything 
is ready for your reception. 

Send me immediately the white Al- 
gerian burnouse, which is on the top of 
the wardrobe in my bedroom, the para- 
sol lined with pink, and the black gown 
trimmed with black feathers, which are 
in the press in the dressing-room. 

A thousand kind remembrances to 
everybody. 

And, above all, touch none of my books 
or the pictitres which are on top of the 
books. Let the dust lie. Do not dis- 
turb the least scrap of paper, I beg of 
you. 



To the Same. 

JOUY-EN-JOSAS. 

Dear Mother: 

I have been for the last three days 
with the Canroberts ; I can give you 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 197 



no idea of their kindness ; the Mare- 
chale herself arranged the covers of my 
bed ; they are adorable people. And 
the place is very pretty and quite near 
Versailles. Settle matters soon. I 
send you a kiss. 



To the Same. 
Mamma : 

As you have had that fire, and as 
papa is ill, I see plainly that my projects 
are no longer feasible. Examine the 
question and tell me frankly what you 
think. Consider the folly, the enor- 
mity of taking such a journey at this 
season. And, above all, if papa is ill, 
and the physicians recommend a 
milder climate for him, it would be 
madness on his part to remain there. 



198 LETTERS OF 



There will neither be amusements, nor 
an opportunity to do anything, if he is 
ill and low-spirited. 

I should like to go to Algeria. That 
would be advisable for many reasons ; 
I should have the author of my being 
to nurse, and my picture to paint. You 
see that would suit me admirably. 

But if, as is more likely, I do not 
make the journey, — and I should not 
regret not doing so, — return as soon as 
possible, and bring with you the money 
to pay for my portrait. You must act 
in accordance with the tenor of my first 
letter, the one which contains my rec- 
ommendations, and in which I ask you 
to return quickly. 

Answer by telegraph. Bring my 
father back with you, since he requires 
nursing ; tell the Princess that if he re- 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 199 

mains in the country, ill as he is, he will 
die. 

I await your answer to my last letter 
and the present one, but I am con- 
vinced that you will come, for, under 
present circumstances, for me to un- 
dertake the journey would be the act 
of a mad woman. 

Love to every one. 



To M. Julian. 

Dear Master : 

So much has been said about the 
rights of women and so many intelli- 
gent and learned people have treated 
the subject with ridicule that one is al- 
most ashamed even to mention the 
subject ; and yet the rights and the 
equality we claim have nothing to do 



200 LETTERS OF 



with politics, and have no connection 
v/hatever either with nihilism, or so- 
cialism, or Bonapartism, or the right 
to vote, or the eligibility of women 
to public office. 

All these questions have been every- 
where agitated ; many instances of the 
injustice with which the weaker sex is 
treated have been brought forward ; 
there is one, however, that has been 
mentioned by no one, perhaps because 
it is the most real, the most striking, 
and the most cruel of all — the absence 
of a School of Fine Arts for women. 

How comes it, foreigners ask in 
wonder, that women are admitted to 
the School of Medicine, and that the 
School of Fine Arts is closed against 
them ? At St. Petersburg, at Stock- 
holm women are received at the Acad- 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 201 

emy, and neither city pretends to be 
the equal of Paris ! 

Exactly, many say to us ; and this is 
the best argument that can be used 
against you ; in France, in Paris, such 
a thing would not be possible. 

And why not, we ask ? 

To this they respond by a long 
discourse, under three heads, bristling 
with conclusions, all going to prove that 
our society is rotten and that the im- 
morality of the French nation is such 
that what would be practicable else- 
where would not be at all practicable 
in France. And we retort by repeating, 
in the first place, that women are ad- 
mitted to the School of Medicine — we 
will afterward specify the branches 
they are allowed to study — and that in 
the School of Fine Arts (as in the coun- 



202 LETTERS OF 



tries we have mentioned) they come in 
contact with the men pupils. The 
aesthetic course is pursued by both 
sexes together only in Sweden. And 
since in France women and men attend 
the various courses together, in what 
respect would these courses be more 
dangerous or more objectionable if 
pursued at the school ? The studios 
in which they work with the model are 
separate. 

So that they are separated in the 
only study in which it might be objec- 
tionable to have them together. 

The model in the men's class is nude ; 
in that of the women he wears drawers 
like those worn by the bathers at Trou- 
ville and Dieppe, whom the most mod- 
est of ladies do not scruple to look at. 
So that, while the pupils are separated 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 2cv 



where it would be objectionable for 
them to study together, they are to- 
gether where it would be to their ad- 
vantage to be so. 

Great publicity is given to the com- 
petition for admission and to the ex- 
pulsions, which contributes not a little 
to the maintenance of order at the 
school. 

The legend of the woman artist, of 
that vagabond and perverted being 
without industry or talent,— repulsive, 
hungry, beautiful, — who always comes 
to a bad end, is a story in which little 
faith is placed now, although it has 
been the custom to cloak under the 
noble and honored name of artist a 
multitude of things which for the most 
part bear no relation to art. The old 
prejudice, however, has only been re- 



204 LETTERS OF 



placed by an excessively vague idea of 
what would be possible. The type is 
no longer grotesque, it no longer pos- 
sesses any interest. It is not the few 
individuals who come under our notice, 
the charlatans, the young ladies- who 
make copies at the Louvre or who 
have learned to paint pretty pic- 
tures in fashionable studios, who can 
enlighten us on this point. It is at the 
multitude, embracing a not inconsider- 
able number of talented pupils, who 
study art seriously in private studios — 
it is at this large number, who have 
really an amount of talent which would 
astonish those who ridicule the work of 
women, that we must look if we would 
know how interesting these workers are 
and by means of what incredible labors 
they succeed in acquiring a tolerably 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 205 

good education, faulty though it may 
be in many respects. 

The studio of M. X , which is the 

studio most numerously attended, con- 
tains more than fifty pupils. 

Those, who scoff at feminine talent 
can never know how many women who 
have taken up art seriously, women 
of genuine and remarkable talent, 
have been discouraged and their tal- 
ents wasted through a vicious or incom- 
plete education. The woman artist is 
quite as interesting as the man artist. 
It may be said that with two or three 
exceptions there has been no example 
of a woman having produced any work 
of art comparable to the best work of 
men artists. Yes, but the men receive, 
in one of the best schools in the world, 
an intelligent and comprehensive ed- 



2o6 LETTERS OE 



ucation ; during the whole day they 
are surrounded by works of art, their 
eyes rest only on pure lines and brilliant 
colors, they breathe an atmosphere 
that opens their souls to inspiration and 
develops the wings of their imagination, 
on which they may soar to the heights 
of genius. And for women, nothing ; 
or the chance of private studios. 

What is there surprising, then, in the 
fact that with two or three exceptions 
there have never been women artists 
of real importance. And why this in- 
justice toward woman, who has proved 
herself a thousand times more coura- 
geous, more persevering, obliged as she 
is to struggle not only against the pov- 
erty — unhappily common to both male 
and female artists — but also against ter- 
rible prejudices and difficulties without 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 207 

number, lacking even the freedom of 
movement which men have ? 

It is to man, who by his very nature 
has all the facilities for study, that all 
the means are given ; and to woman, 
whom nature has deprived of freedom 
of movement and who has to struggle 
against everything, that this instruction 
is denied. There are too many women 
artists already, it may be said ; woman 
was made for home. Alas, it is not by 
depriving them of the means of satisfy- 
ing a noble passion that they will be 
inspired with a desire to spin wool. 
Why not afford women of ambition this 
glorious outlet ? Why not encourage 
these aspirations toward the great, the 
beautiful, the useful, by making Paris 
the capital of the world, which like 
ancient Rome claims to be the 



2o8 LETTERS OF 



curia dignitatis gymnasium litterarum, 
domicilium verborum mundi, patriam 
liber tatis ? 

To accomplish this an appeal should 
be made to all artists. 

But these are not serious objections ; 
and if they were the only ones nothing- 
would be easier than to establish two 
studios of thirty or forty pupils each ; 
there are facilities in plenty. But that 
would displease Messieurs the profes- 
sors, in the first place, because it would 
be an innovation, a change, and routine 
is one of the flowers which thrives best 
in our institutes — and then, women ! It 
is not worth thinking seriously about. 
Would it be possible for a woman to 
work seriously ? Yes, she can work 
seriously, and there are even many who 
think she can, while saying to the con- 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 209 

trary. But what would you have ? It 
is so common to look down upon wo- 
men. It is so common that it should 
cease to be practiced, and that it should 
be considered better taste not to 
do so. 

It is to persons of enlightenment, to 
artists, to the disciples of art, who see 
only pure lines and brilliant colors, who 
breathe an atmosphere that opens the 
soul to the inspiration of what is puis- 
sant and beautiful, and develops the 
wings of the imagination on which they 
may soar to the heights of genius — it is 
to the friends of progress and of jus- 
tice, that an appeal should be made. 

France has a genius for painting. 



LETTERS OF 



To M. B . 

Dear B .• 

My answer goes to you from the 
heart of Poltava, where we are perform- 
ing deeds of prowess in the chase, in 
comparison with which the exploits of 
the renowned Nimrod sink into insig- 
nificance. The weather is still fine, 
and a lunch in the woods, at a distance 
of two hours' journey from any dwell- 
ing, is something very chic. 

The day before yesterday, Sunday, 
we killed twenty-seven wolves, seven- 
teen foxes, and two hundred and sixty- 
three hares. I have on my conscience 
only four wolves and a fox ; you will 
see them at the Rue Ampere, where we 
shall be about the 3d of September. I 
hope that you have returned to Baby- 



MARIE BA SHKIR TSEFF. 2 1 1 

Ion, and that Brittany mourns your 
absence. Papa wrote to Alexis to in- 
vite him to the hunt, but has received 
no answer from him. 

What have you done with your fam- 
ily, Bojidar— cheologus ? What a pity 
it is that we are so far away ! With 
some friends from Lutetia one could 
enjoy one's self so well. Tell Alexis 
that his fiancee, Julie, is charming; she 
will be fourteen in a month. 

The future parents-in-law of Alexis- 
miletis entertained us for three days 
with a magnificence which plainly indi- 
cates that, so far as the dowry is 
concerned, Balthazar, Sardanapalus, 
and M. Grevy are as nothing com- 
pared to Alexandre ; and this, jok- 
ing apart. But notwithstanding every- 
thing I feel the need of saturating 



212 LETTERS OF 



myself with civilization and with 
painting. 

Every one sends love. 

Good-by for a while. 

How is Sergeant Hoff ? 

God keep you. Regards to . 



To M. Julian. 

In order not to dispute with you 
viva voce, dear director, I write to you ; 
otherwise it would be impossible for me 
to preserve the necessary calmness. 

In my desire to find an explanation 
of the persistent discouragement you 
heap upon me with such delightful 
calmness, I form many conjectures. 
Perhaps I have lost my mind, like the 
Greco or like Madame O'Connell, and 
am painting locomotives and cathe- 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 213 

drals for human faces ; in that case 
it would be necessary to take seri- 
ous steps to prevent me from running 
about loose. Or perhaps you think 
that all the flatteries I receive have 
made me inordinately conceited, and 
that at all costs it is necessary to take 
down my pride. 

Or perhaps 

But you know well that I do not 
believe at all, at all, in your candor; 
you know that I judge myself impar- 
tially, and that I am much more than 
discouraged ; a discouragement to 
which you have contributed with a 
thirty-six horse power, but for which I 
bear you no ill will. Why do you keep 
up the farce of pretending to believe 
me blinded and crazed by vanity ? Why 
do you torture me by maddening warn- 



2 14 LETTERS OF 



ings ? If it is to put me beside myself, 
you have succeeded ; in future I shall 
try not to listen to your perfidious ad- 
vice ; that is all. 

But if it is for my good, know that 
you deceive yourself, and most disas- 
trously so for me. When one desires 
to help people, when one really thinks 
they are in danger of drowning, one 
does not amuse one's self by filling 
their pockets with lead. 

Besides, you do not believe a word of 
what you say when you talk about 
studies made at home or out of doors, 
which you make up into a bundle, per- 
fidiously call pictures, and then use to 
crush me. 

Have you, then, ever thrown in the 

faces of your X 's, and other shining 

lights, their academic figures and their 



MA RIE BA SHKIR TSEFF. 2 1 5 

casts ? My pictures are no worse than 
those, only that I would at any time 
rather fail in a sincere and interesting 
study than succeed in a model, the 
more so as the knowledge acquired is 
the same in both ; the process only is 
different. 

That I have not reached my aim, 
that I am not a master, that I have 
still a great deal to learn, is evident ; 
but between that and coming to tell me 
that I know not what terrible catastro- 
phe has happened, that I can no longer 
do anything — that all is over — there is 
a great difference. 

What I have produced is not much ; 
but, after all, the pictures are there and 
they were not painted by the cook of 
the Cafe Anglais to amuse himself. As 
a result they count for nothing ; but 



2l6 LETTERS OF 



they are studies as good as any other 
studies ; and then, since you keep such 
exact records, consult those records, and 
you will see that I have not even had 
the necessary time to pass through 
all the phases of decadence, through 
which the individuals whom you so 
often cite have passed. 

Deducting the time lost by illness, 
I have spent three years painting. 
This is an age for my impatience, but 
judging dispassionately, it is not long. 
So you see everything is opposed — the 
time I have spent in painting and my 
own inclination — to my accepting the 
role of retired pupil, which you wish to 
confer upon me. 

The first of what you treacherously 
call my paintings was done in 1880, 
after eighteen months' study, during 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 217 

twelve months only of which I worked 
all day. The last was done in the 
spring of 1882, during convalescence 
after an illness, when I had fever at 
least once a week. In the interval I 
exhibited the very mediocre " Atelier" 1 
(without mention) ; and according to 
what even your most hostile young- 
ladies say, I have rather improved 
than gone back since then. This 
brings me to that silly nonsense about 
exhibiting which you seem to regard 
as an impossibility. I should perhaps 
make as honorable an appearance at 

the Salon as Miss K , otherwise it 

would be necessary to returm to the 
supposition that I am mad, a la 
Greco. 

1 " Un Atelier," signed Andrey, a picture exhibited 
at the Salon, representing the Studio Julian. 



218 LETTERS OF 



The more I think about it, the more 
I am convinced that you must have 
some inexplicable motive in seeking to 
crush me. You seem positively to de- 
light in heaping discouragements of 
the most torturing kind upon me. It 
is plain that you do not consider what 
a terrible, I might almost say what a 
criminal thing it is to say to one who 
passionately longs to learn and study, 
" You ! You can do nothing more ! " 
It is a moral assassination, more cruel 
than the assassination of the body, for 
you repeat it daily. 

If you have any object in this, I can- 
not discover what it is. To affirm 
brutally that I can do nothing more is 
a very serious matter, and, in short — 
you know nothing about it. It will 
only result in a paralysis of the facul- 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 219 



ties and eight pages of literature. 
How will that profit you ? 

Now, outside the art question, for 
which I hate you, for you have here 
done me the greatest possible injury, 
we are good friends, and the proof of 
it is that on Saturday you dine at the 
Rue Ampere. 



2 20 LETTERS OF 



I88 3 . 

To Mile. ■ 



My Dear Little Alice : 

I was very glad receiving your nice 
letter. I am coming back very soon ; 
you may expect to see me at eight 
o'clock Monday, the 10th of April, at 
the blessed atelier Julian. 

The picture I was doing for the 
Salon is not yet finished. You may 
well understand that I can have no 
pleasure in sending something that is 
not entirely good, at least that is not 
as good as I may do. 

I am flattered by the admiration of 
B ; you find her intelligent ; she is 

1 This letter is a transcript of the original, which is 
in English. 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 221 



so, but when you know her better you 
will see that the first days she looks 
more than she is in reality. 

Besides she is not good, and with all 
the appearances of brutal frankness she 
knows what it is to be false when she 
needs it. 

As to her talent she has it, but not so 
much as she imagines herself ; besides 
she is full of German vanity. Now 
rereintement est aussi complet que 
possible. Do not think I think bad 
of her; it is merely the love of 
analysis that makes me look into 
people's nature more than it would 

perhaps be suitable. B has des 

defauts mais elle a aussi des qualites, 
unfortunately one cannot say so of 
many. 

As to the picture, canaille, it would 



LETTERS OF 



not be yet bad to do it, if there were 
talent. 

Good-by ; if you will see some one's 
pictures before the Salon, tell me what 
is it. I stay here eight days more. 
Sincerely yours, 

Andrey. 

Is not my letter very wicked ? The 
truth is seldom agreeable and nearly 
always we dare not tell it not to be 
accused of jealousy. 



To Mile. . 

Rue Ampere. 
Dear Friend : 

There was once a studio filled with 
young ladies and married ladies, 
among whom were a Russian and an 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 223 

American. The Russian conceived a 
friendship for the American and was 
exceedingly kind to her, trying to 
make herself agreeable to her on every 
occasion, without considering that there 
are many people who think one can 
never do a kindness to any one with- 
out having some selfish motive. That 
this reflection, not very flattering to 
the person concerning whom it is 
made, is made very often, the greatest 
moralists affirm. 

Be this as it may, the Russian 
treated the American like a little sis- 
ter, saying before her all the childish 
nonsense that came into her head. 
An aristocrat by nature, she committed 
the mistake perhaps of supposing that 
it would be taken for granted that an 
artist was not for her a man ; and she 



224 LETTERS OF 



spoke of artists as one speaks of a 
favorite race horse or of a singer, con- 
cerning whom the most insignificant 
details are interesting. 

And as she admitted her friend to a 
share in these pleasantries, a thought 
occurred to the American, of which, 
were I in her place, I should be eter- 
nally ashamed. It was that the Rus- 
sian made use of her to avoid compro- 
mising herself, and one fine day she 
made a remark to the Russian which 
absolutely astounded the latter, so that 
she did not know what to answer. The 
answer she should have given was to 
turn her back on the little American, 
but not having the presence of mind to 
do this instantly, she reflected after- 
ward that it would be unworthy of her 
to attach any importance to a silly im- 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 225 

pertinence, and she resolved to treat 
the whole matter with oood-humored 
contempt. My opinion is that she was 
wrong ; and then this course of con- 
duct was not understood by the Ameri- 
can, who assumed ridiculous airs of 
importance, owing to the fact that a 
great lady and her daughter had mani- 
fested an interest in her, by which her 
head was a little turned, so that it 
never occurred to her that her conduct, 
after the manner in which she had 
been treated by the family of the Rus- 
sian, might, perhaps, in the eyes of 
many persons, redound to her dis- 
credit. 

But to conclude. As the Russian is 
exceedingly tolerant in her disposition, 
and as her thoughts are occupied with 
serious matters rather than with non- 



226 LETTERS OF 



sense of this kind, she took the affair 
philosophically, thinking it all very 
natural, and contenting herself with 
laughing a little at it satirically, like 
the " Harlequin " of Saint Marceaux, 
an artist whom she esteems and whose 
genius she admires. 

I hope, my dear Alice, that you, too, 
will laugh a little at this history, which 
is as instructive as it is amusing, and 
which I relate to you because I do not 
think it well that I should be always 
taken for a fool. 

Mile. Canrobert has given me your 
address, which gives me an oppor- 
tunity of wishing you every sort of 
happiness in America. You already 
know, doubtless, that I have obtained 
a mention. 

Do not forget, above all, to give me 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 227 



news of the picture of M. Bastien-Le- 
page, an artist whom I esteem and 
whose orenius I admire. 
A thousand regards. 

Marie. 

P. S. — If you should chance to meet 
the little American of my story, tell 
her not to trouble herself to slander 
the Russian in order to excuse her 
stupidity ; the Russian will not take 
the trouble to turn her into ridicule. 



To Mile. . 

30 Rue Ampere, 

(Boulevard Malesherbes.) 
My Dear Alice : 

I am glad for you if you like Pont- 
Aven, only you know I am not an 



228 LETTERS OF 



admirer of the celebrated Britain, be- 
cause all the artists that go there bring 
back studies which all seem to come 
from the same shop, with the difference 
of qualities — first, second, third, and 
eleventh. It is love. If one or two 
can do something of a fisherwoman, 
six hundred and seventy - three pro- 
duce 

Art is something more than the fash- 
ion to paint anything en plein air. 
Bastien himself thinks so. 

As to the brother's portrait, it is not 
finished ; we wait the return from the 
country of Miss F . 

Now, my grand table 'au is a secret, of 
course. I am working at its prepara- 
tion and write while the model reposes. 
It is not the preparation, as we say at 
Julian's. I am only doing studies, for 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 229 

it must not be done in an atelier. 
Well, I was going to tell the great 
secret. 

I am glad to hear Miss Webb does 
good things. She is nice ; wes tres 
sinceres amities to her and Miss B . 

You cannot imagine the scie that 
became my pastel ; it is so very good, 
every one speaks of it to my friends 
who come to me and say what they 
have heard. I am quite sorry it is not 
a picture. Bastien says that it is art 
even if it were a mere fusain. M. Le- 
fevre saw it, and M. Tony asked me to 
give it for his atelier ; but it is a por- 
trait and cannot be given like that ; 
then he said he would pose himself. 

Les orgues et les voix de femmes ! 
Remember Carolus painted by Sar- 
gent. Goodness, non sum digitus / 



230 LETTERS OF 



Well, now, plaisanterie a part, I am 
happy to be of the illustrious atelier des 
dames. Some — suppose few — were so 
wicked, and I feel unfortunately so 
deeply the antipathy ! One is enough 
to vitiate the air of a whole room. I 
am sure now that I made few pro- 
gress, partly because I paid too much 
attention to those delightful voix de 
femmes, whose judgments paralyzed 
what I was to do ; indeed, when I was 
painting there was always the thought 
that they disprized my work. It is very 
stupid, I know — especially because 
they said of me what they said of 
artists whose shoes are too high-born 
to be blacked by them. Some sweet 
women's voices say Bastien is not an 
artist, but only tin executant /. 

Perhaps we shall go to Dieppe ; if 



MARIE BASIIKIRTSEFF. 231 

you are still there I will come and see 
you ; only I am afraid l to be capti- 
vated by that Brittany that I despised, 
and regret too much not having gone 
there to work. 

I must stop now, or I shall enter on 
a series of considerations as to what is 
to be preferred — what I prefer, what 
we must strive after — 

The composition, the idea, the senti- 
ment, or — 

Do we know ? 

Happy they who are not artists. 
One must be mad to enlist in this 
army of tortured spirits. But once 
one has entered it, one never de- 
serts it. 

I remember the picture of M. Sim- 

1 Thus far in English, in the original ; the rest of 
the letter is in French. 



232 LETTERS OF 



mons. He is a man of taste in every 
sense. 

Good-by. I see I am writing in 
French now, and I must stop or I shall 
go on in Italian. 

I am, my sweet friend, with love, 
sincerely and cordially yours. 

When I had closed this letter and 
was writing the address, I was seized 
with a wild desire to go and work on 
the seashore. There is no use in be- 
ing shut up in a studio of any kind. I 
should like to follow my letter. I 
fancy I feel the sea breezes blowing 
through my hair — voices of women, 
organ-tones. If it were not for this 
frightful picture ! But in any case I 
shall go. I shall arrive — at least, un- 
less I change my mind. 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 233 



To M. B- 



B ! How absurd you are to be 

so greatly disturbed about nothing. 

As a thousand artistic complications 
prevent my leaving the house I write 
to you instead of going to soothe your 
woes by my presence. To say I have 
no heart ! You know that mamma is 
gone away and that consequently you 
are not the only obstacle to the repre- 
sentation. But at the same time that 
this has disarranged everything it ar- 
ranges many things in regard to paint- 
ing. When you are able to come here 
you shall see some fine pictures. 

I advise you to work in plaster as an 
amusement while you are in bed. At 
least the loss of time would not be 
very great 



234 LETTERS OF 



Four days ago we received a visit 
from some great artists who think well 
of you and who exclaimed, when they 
saw your portrait, " Why, look, B !" 

I am waiting for Mile, de V ; 

my gamins have not come ; it is a 
superb rainy day, notwithstanding the 
sun, and, as a return to former times, 
I have taken up an old habit. You 
like to quarrel ; I am too busy with my 
large picture for such nonsense. But 
you love the fine arts too well to re- 
proach me greatly for this. 

Good-by. I must stop, for Coco 
and Prater are beginning their racket 
again. 

Marie-C HESSE. 



MA RIE BA SHKIR TSEFF. 235 



To M. Alexander D . 

Monsieur : 

I am told that, like every self-respect- 
ing divinity, you are enveloped in a 
cloud which makes you regard the in- 
habitants of the earth with indiffer- 
ence. 

I do not believe this, for the cloud 
in question is generally only a fog 
which gathers around the minds of 
those who are growing old ; and you, 
Monsieur, can never grow old. 

But, philosopher or demi-god though 
you be, it is impossible that you should 
refuse me what I am going to ask of 
you ; impossible, because in the first 
place I desire it with all my heart, and 
in the next place it will cost you noth- 
ing. 



2 2,6 LETTERS OF 



What I ask is that you should be for 
once the spiritual director of a woman 
who desires to consult you, as she 
would a priest, regarding a very serious 
matter. But reassure yourself, Mon- 
sieur and illustrious man ; I have not 
the slightest intention of recounting to 
you " the romance of my life," or any- 
thing else that would affect your 
nerves. 

I come somewhat late, I know, and 
I tremble to think of the numbers of 
those who must have written to you 
about similar things ; but that is not 
my fault. 

In your books you seem to be as 
great and as good as it is possible to 
be, and if you show yourself scornful 
now you will destroy one of my most 
cherished illusions ; and when there is 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 237 

no need of committing an action like 
this it is better to avoid doing so. If, 
then, you show yourself kind and sym- 
pathetic, and possessed of that good- 
ness of heart characteristic of men of 
genius (I do not wish to flatter you, 
but it is necessary that you should 
know why I bend the knee before 
you and write to you in this hum- 
ble style), if, then, you are as good 
as I imagine you to be, come on 
Thursday, March 20, to the ball at the 
Opera House, the only place where I 
can see you. Write me a line in an- 
swer, to the post-office of the Made- 
leine, for you can understand that if 
you are not to be there I will not go. 

If you are Olympic, however, if you 
have grown bourgeois, stay at home, 
for in truth you inspire me with a 



238 LETTERS OF 



sacred awe, and I should be unable to 
utter a word in your presence. 

I should like to say to you that I 
am a woman comme il faut, but that 
would make you think the contrary. 

As this document is in my hand- 
writing it would be very amiable of you 
to return it to me. 



To the Same. 

You are right ; novel reading has 
turned my head. Such things should 
not be done. 

I cried with anger at your thinking 
what you did, but I was in truth too 
silly. You are not the man to whom 
to send foolish epistles, copied by a 
public scribe. 

It is an escapade, however, which 



MARIE BASIIKIRTSEFF. 239 

has caused me not a little unhappi- 
ness ! 

At all events, I assure you that I 
was not deceiving you ; that, finding 
myself face to face with a situation 
from which I saw no way of extricat- 
ing myself, forced to take a desperate 
resolution, I prayed to God, and I 
then thought of you, fancying you 
might be the rare being who, instead 
of taking me for one of " those women 
of the world who, etc.," would under- 
stand that a soul in torment had come 
to you for light. 

You make me feel forcibly the dif- 
ference that exists between what we 
imagine and what really is. I will 
keep early hours, I promise you ; thus, 
thanks to you, I shall always remain 
young. 



240 LETTERS OF 



As to the guidance of which I stand 
in need I shall ask it from Him who 
suggested to me the thought of asking 
it from you. 

Sleep well, Monsieur, and continue 
to be as much a bourgeois in private as 
you are an artist for the public ; that 
too is an excellent method of keeping 
from growing old. 

I shall see you doubtless on Satur- 
day at the Chamber. The divorce law 
will be proposed. 

Apropos of divorces, I announce 
to you now that of my admiration 
from your person. 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 241 



To M- 



30 Rue Ampere, Paris. 
Dear Master : 

What is painting, however beautiful, 
however grand, after seeing the " Har- 
lequin 1 of Saint Marceaux" ? Mean, 
artificial, false, the decadence of art ! 
Who is the critic who has justly de- 
scribed this statue ? Who is the writer 
of genius who has called the attention 
of the public to this astonishing work? 
Who is the Theophile Gautier who is 
to explain its beauties to the people, 
placing this extraordinary work in its 
true light ? It is very difficult, in our 
times, to speak with justice of an artist 
who is living and who is still young. 
And I do not think that the critics will 

1 A statue by Saint Marceaux. 



242 LETTERS OF 



dare to place any one, whoever he may 
be, above — every one else. 

And then the public has learned to 
regard certain names as representing 
the whole sum of human genius, — • 
Phidias, Michael Angelo, and Raphael, 
and a few others of later date, — so that 
an authority and, above all, an inde- 
pendence of mind, which are not to be 
found, would be needed thus to pro- 
claim the supremacy of a contemporary 
work. 

The " Harlequin " is not only un- 
rivaled in execution but it is also, and 
above all, a highly philosophical work. 
Can it be possible that the public will 
perceive only the freedom, the skill, 
the talent it reveals ? It is true that 
its execution alone would make it a 
master-piece, but the idea it embodies, 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 243 

and its breadth of treatment render it 
a conception of the highest order. It 
is the highest expression of genius, of 
the comic and satirical order. It is 
the most delicate, the most complete, 
and the grandest representation of the 
superior mind passing in review the 
vices, the follies, and the basenesses of 
humanity. There is an excess of vigor 
in it, which is characteristic of our 
epoch. It is delicate, it is profound, it 
is awful, it is sublime. 

The sublime allegory trembles, vi- 
brates ; the muscles quiver under the 
close-fitting garments. Standing firmly 
on his feet, the head thrown boldly 
back, the arms folded, his wand in his 
hand, the mouth laughing scornfully, 
the clown satirizes humanity. 

Go look at M. X. Y. Z.'s work ; it is 



244 LETTERS OF 



very fine ; it has beautiful lines, living 
flesh ; it shows great ability. Then 
look at the work of Saint Marceaux ; 
go back again to the other and you 
will receive an impression of hollow- 
ness, weakness, as when one looks at 
a decorative panel after seeing a fine 
painting. 



To her Brother. 

30 Rue Ampere, Paris, May. 
Dear Paul : 

What has happened to you that you 
do not write to me ? I think you 
mieht at least send me a few words on 
the occasion of my honorable mention. 
Write to me about everything and 
especially about the health of papa. 
What do the doctors say, seriously 
speaking? 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 245 

We go out very little ; I am painting 
a new picture in our garden, and that 
takes up all my time ; last Sunday we 
went to see the people returning from* 
the Grand Prix ; it was a fine sight 
and the weather was superb. 

For some days past I have been in a 
very bad humor, and we have received 
no one ; besides, the weather is very 
warm and some people have gone to 
the country, not many, for the greater 
number remain here until it is time to 
go to the seashore. I shall wait until 
mamma returns and does what I have 
asked her. Coco and Prater have 
been righting with each other all day ; 
that is all the news there is to tell you. 

Give my love to your wife and the 
children. But you do not know what 
has happened to us ! Louis, the negro 



240 LETTERS OF 



boy is to make his first communion to- 
morrow, and lo ! the priest has just dis- 
covered that he has never been bap- 
tized. So I sent everywhere in haste 
to look for a godfather, and as the 
matter was very urgent and no one 
was at home, we had to get the sac- 
ristan to take the place of papa, whose 
name I had registered as godfather. 
I named him Louis-Jules-Rene-Marie, 
and the priest pronounced a discourse, 
saying that this baby of fourteen was 
now under my protection and that I 
was his spiritual mother. The boy 
spent the whole evening in retreat, and 

to-morrow B will take him to the 

church to make his first communion. 

Can you not fancy you see B in 

this role ? They did not remove any 
of his clothing for the baptism, but 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 247 

simply poured a little water on his 
head, put some salt on his tongue, and 
anointed his forehead, his neck, etc., 
with oil, as we do. 

Behold, then, Louis- Jules- Rene- 
Marie a Christian, and to-morrow he 
will take communion. 

This is the great event. Good-by. 

Regards and love to yourself. Re- 
membrances to everybody. 



To Mile. Canrobert. 

Saturday, June 21. 
Dear Claire : 

We have had a storm accompanied 
by rain. 

The painting was injured but not ir- 
reparably. At heart I am delighted. 



248 LETTERS OF 



It happened about four o'clock, at the 
very instant when I was seized with the 
idea of making a composition in clay. 
It was an inspiration from Heaven and 
it has plunged me into a state of inef- 
fable joy. I was perfectly happy for 
two hours. Love, when it is reciproca- 
ted, must produce a somewhat similar 
feeling. I scarcely took the time to 
make a sketch before attacking the 
clay. One must neither think nor ex- 
periment — the fingers execute a pre- 
scribed work with mechanical precision. 
I saw and I executed. 

As it is possible that the occasion I 
speak of may have an influence on my 
whole life, I will describe it to you in 
detail. I first made a hasty sketch, 
which did not interpret my thought. 
Instead of making a fresh attempt, 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 249 



which is always a loss of time, I began 
to read Jeanne d'Arc, and it was on the 
cover of this book that I sketched in an 
instant the composition, of which no 
important detail is to be changed. It 
descends like a hurricane. (It is a 
bas-relief.) The figures in the fore- 
ground are in high relief. The back- 
ground is barely sketched in. It is to 
be very large — life-size — with 17 or 18 
figures. It is a furious descent, an in- 
vasion, a storm of youth. It comes on. 
you like a whirlwind. Spring is rep- 
resented as a youthful god rushing 
forward, followed by a crowd of young 
girls and youths ; they almost fly. It 
begins in the background to the left 
and comes forward and down toward 
the right where Spring stands ; at his 
feel are children, eagerly gathering 



250 LETTERS OF 



flowers ; to his left a young girl is run- 
ning and trying to look in his face ; 
behind him a young man and a young 
woman are standing close together, 
gazing at each other ; slightly bent 
down, the face of the young woman is 
almost concealed. Behind her a young 
girl is stooping down to rouse from 
sleep a younger girl, who is rubbing 
her eyes ; boys with their arms raised 
in air sing" and laugfh, and in the back- 
ground some women are laughing at an 
old man sitting crouched at the foot of 
a tree ; a Cupid resting on this tree is 
tickling the old man's shoulder with a 
branch. 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 251 

To Jier MotJicr. 

30 Rue Ampere, Paris. 
Dear Mamma : 

Buy me a complete history of 
Russia, from the remotest times ; and, 
in addition, a work on the costumes, 
architecture, and furniture of the 
ancient Russians, their customs, etc. — 
one in which I shall be able to find 
everything bearing on the subject, and 
if you are to remain long in Russia, 
send them to me. And do not forget, 
dear mamma, what I have written in 
my preceding letters. 

P. S. — I want a history of Russia 
which contains all the leeends of anti- 
quity. Do not buy Solovieff's history, 
in one volume, for I have it already. 

I send you my love, 

Write to the Marechale. 



LETTERS OE 



1884. 

To M. B- 



My Dear B~ / 

Since custom requires that I should 
address a few words to you which will 
only bore you — here they are. But 
even without my writing you must still 
have been convinced that you would 
always meet with profound sympathy 
from me and from my family on the 
occasion of any happy or unhappy 
event in your family. 

Your poor father suffered greatly 
and his malady was an incurable one ; 
this should be a consolation to you, if 
there can be consolation for such a 
loss. We must only be brave ; life is a 
tissue of miseries. I say this now as I 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 253 

have said it in my gayest moments. 
Embrace your dear mother for us all. 
Give a clasp of the hand to Alexis, and 
believe me sincerely your friend. 
P. S. — Give us news of everything. 



To Mile. . 

Dear Claire : 

I have found my picture, but 

that is to say, it is entirely suitable, and 
I think it is interesting, but do not 
speak of it to any one, and do not ask 
me what it is. I am working in a re- 
tired corner at Saint Cloud and no one 
is to know anything about it. This is 
because, in the first place — of the evil 
eye. 

And in the next, because the great 
Bastien-Lepage has said to me that if 



254 LETTERS OF 



I do not isolate myself like a cholera 
patient, I shall never accomplish my 
best. 

You know that I have an unbounded 
admiration for this great man. 

I have therefore secluded myself 
even from my family. But as I have 
some friends living near Versailles 
whom I have set my mind on seeing, I 
am going to do something unheard-of, 
wonderful ! Yes ! I am going to take 
an entire week from my picture and 
we shall make copies of Cazin together. 
If you knew how complicated a work 
my picture is you would thank me for 
this — I will not say sacrifice, since it is 
a pleasure for me ; supply the word 
yourself. 

Do not expire with joy then when I 
tell you that you will have me with 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 255 

you for seven entire days, for it is prob- 
able that I will give you seven more 
days later on, if I should become so 
disgusted with my picture as to be 
forced to remain for a while without 
looking at it. Next Monday, then, I 
shall take the 10.25 train at the little 
station at Jouy, without fail. But be 
an angel, and if the barometer should 
fall let me know of it beforehand, so 
that I may defer my visit — on account 
of the Cazins. I am coming to make 
you work, and work hard. 

What do you say to the handwriting 
and the style of this letter ? The truth 
is that the work which is in preparation 
demands all my energy. I must not 
waste any of it. 

Ah, painting ! 



256 LETTERS OF 



To the Same. 

You must tell me, my dear Claire, 
the exact source of Jonas. 1 - Those 
two verses tormented me so greatly 
that I thought of composing a con- 
tinuation, as Michael Angelo thought 
of putting legs to the famous antique 
torso. I must learn then, precisely 
where you found "Jonas seated in his 
whale." If the verses are your own, 

1 The two first lines are by Mile. C. , the others 

by Marie Bashkirtseff. 

Jonas assis dans sa baleine 

Disait : Ah, que je voudrais sortir 

On a beau avoir des loisirs, 

Rester ici me fait de la peine. 

M'y v'la depuis tantot trois jours 

Je commence a la trouver severe 

J'suis separe de mes amours, 

Je veux m'en aller de ma mere, 

D'attant plus qu'mon angoisse est enorme, 

Car enfin si jamais je suis dehors, 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 257 

say so frankly, for they are very fine, 
and at our next interview I will recite 
for you my continuation, for that too 
is very fine. I have found my model 

again, but I have Secrecy and 

discretion. 

" Work, take pains " 

I should like to see this picture 
already painted. 

A thousand regards. 

C'est que cette carcasse difforme 
M'aura rendu au pis encore. 
II en etait la d'son monologue 
Quand un grand bruit se fit soudain, 
C'etaient de ties habiles marins, 
Qui s'amenaient sur une pirogue, 
La baleine saisie d'effroi 
Jeta l'prophete a la derive, 
Et obligee, mais pleine d'emoi 
Nagea vite vers une autre rive. 
C'est ainsi que finit l'aventure, 
Jonas qui etait tres fort 
Se fit mettre dans les Ecritures 
Et envoya une note au Sport. 



258 LETTERS OF 



To her Brother. 

30 Rue Ampere, Paris. 

Sunday, February 30. 
Dear Patd : 

It is almost two o'clock, and I write 
to you in bed, after returning from the 
Italians, where I heard Massenet's 
" Herodiade." I went with the mare- 
chale and Claire. 

Ah ! what divine art ! what genius ! 
What sublimity, what beauty ! The 
first act surprises by the novelty and 
the grandeur of its harmonies. It re- 
sembles nothing I have ever heard. It 
is truly original — full, sonorous, and 
harmonious. One can listen to the 
opera from beginning to end with undi- 
minished delight. The music and the 
words blend together ; there is an 
absence of arias, of middle harmonies. 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 259 



There is sweep, breadth, magnificence, 
grandeur in it. Massenet is undoubt- 
edly a great artist, and henceforth to 
be counted among the glories of 
France. It is said that the beauties 
of a fine musical composition cannot 
be understood at once. Well, one can 
understand at once that this work is 
admirable and melodious, notwith- 
standing an extremely scientific or- 
chestration. 

There is an accompaniment at the 
end of the first act so beautiful that 
I was transported by it. And several 
times we looked at one another with 
eyes filled with tears of enthusiasm. 
If the audience had followed their 
impulses they would have wept, so 
powerful, so affecting, so grand are 
some of its passages. 



260 LETTERS OF 



The enthusiasm was universal. It 
was a triumph, and Jules Massenet must 
be a happy man. Doubtless, if I were 
to hear it a second time I should find it 
still more beautiful ; but I will not ad- 
mit that one cannot understand truly 
fine music, hearing it for the first time. 

The appearance of John the Baptist 
in the first act was thrilling. In the 
aria of Herod and the duo of John and 
Salome there were bursts of melody 
which made the enthusiasm of the 
audience rise to its highest pitch. 

The marechale wore a diamond orna- 
ment — an eagle holding an olive branch 
in its beak. The Empire is peace. 
But she thought the opera admirable. 
It was so. 

Doubtless my Italian music will not 
bear comparison with this dazzling 
work, for this is so admirable as to 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 261 



be almost overpowering — no, not that. 
And it is with an orchestration in two 
tones that Italian romances move one 
most profoundly. The old airs of the 
old operas. And " Aida " — well, it is 
a little like " Herodiade "; but Masse- 
net is a melodious French Wagner. 
No, Manet is Wagner rather. He is 
the father, to some extent, of the new 
school, of those for whom science takes 
the place of truth and feeling. There 
have always been new schools. 

I ask your pardon for having over- 
praised " Herodiade." The poem, in 
the first place, is not good ; and then, 
and then 



To M- 



I might answer you in your own 
words — " They are all asses." 



262 LETTERS OF 



What is certain is that the plans 
which have been accepted are all infe- 
rior to yours, which is in a pure and 
elevated style of art. Those imbeciles 
have selected figures suitable for statu- 
ary. 

I know that any words I could say 
would be powerless to console you, and 
that you must be almost on the brink 
of despair. 

When one misses an opportunity 
one is apt to fancy that another will 
never present itself. And the more 
one thinks about the disappointment 
the more enraged one becomes. After- 
ward one recovers one's serenity and 
makes up for what one has missed, for 
one can do this with a determined will. 
This is what one must be well per- 
suaded of. Weak natures bewail the 
past ; those who have energy and in- 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 263 

telligence make the future avenge the 
past. These are not idle words, they 
are the truth. 

Throw your chagrin out of the door 
of the railway carriage and do not look 
back. And then they will have to be- 
gin over again. They cannot afflict 

Paris with the D column, or the 

F cubes. It will be I who shall 

get the work and in return you will 
make a monument for me when I am 
dead. 

Meantime, amuse yourself; bring 
back your painter restored to health, 
and all will go well. Paint hard and 
at the coming Salon, we shall all three 
triumph. 

I can no longer make a likeness. 1 

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268 LETTERS OF 



To M. E- 



30 Rue Ampere, Paris, May. 
Dear Monsieur : 

As the arrangements for your con- 
cert will be attended with considerable 
expense, permit me to advance you the 
inclosed trifle, on account, for the tick- 
ets which I shall dispose of. But do 
not, I beg of you, regard this little ser- 
vice as a favor. You will oblige me 
by saying nothing about it to mamma. 
Your speaking of it would only make 
me look foolish, as if I were doing a 
kindness, when, in reality, this is a very 
usual thing among artists. And I have 
just sold a little study. It is under- 
stood, then, that you are to say nothing 
about the matter ; otherwise you will 
displease me seriously. 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 269 

To M. de M . 

Monsieur : 

I read your works, I might almost 
say, with delight. In truth to nature, 
which you copy with religious fidelity, 
you find an inspiration that is truly 
sublime, while you move your readers 
by touches of feeling so profoundly 
human, that we fancy we see ourselves 
depicted in your pages, and love you 
with an egotistical love. Is this an 
unmeaning compliment ? Be indul- 
gent, it is sincere in the main. 

You will understand that I should 
like to say many fine and striking 
things to you, but it is rather difficult, 
all at once, in this way. I regret this 
all the more as you are sufficiently 
great to inspire one with romantic 



270 LETTERS OF 



dreams of becoming the confidant of 
your beautiful soul, always supposing 
your soul to be beautiful. 

If your soul is not beautiful, and if 
" those things are not in your line," I 
shall regret it for your sake, in the 
first place ; and in the next I shall set 
you down in my mind as a maker of 
literature, and dismiss the matter from 
my thoughts. 

For a year past I have had the wish 
to write to you and was many times on 
the point of doing so, but — sometimes 
I thought I exaggerated your merits 
and that it was not worth while. Two 
days ago, however, I saw suddenly, in 
the Gaulois, that some one had hon- 
ored you with a flattering epistle and 
that you had inquired the address of 
this amiable person in order to answer 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 271 

him. I at once became jealous, your 
literary merits dazzled me anew and — 
here is my letter. 

And now let me say that I shall 
always preserve my incognito for you. 
I do not even desire to see you from a 
distance — your countenance might not 
please me — who can tell ? All I know 
of you now is that you are young and 
that you are not married, two essential 
points, even for a distant adoration. 

But I must tell you that I am 
charming ; this sweet reflection will 
stimulate you to answer my letter. It 
seems to me that if I were a man I 
should wish to hold no communication, 
not even an epistolary one, with an old 
fright of an Englishwoman, whatever 
might be thought by 

Miss Hastings, 

P. 0. Station of the Madeleine. 



272 LETTERS OF 



To the Same. 

Your letter, Monsieur, did not at all 
surprise me, and I did not by any means 
expect what you seem to think. 

But let me first say that I did not ask 
to be your confidant — that would be a 
little too foolish ; and if you have the 
time to re-read my letter, you will see 
what you might have seen at a glance 
had you deigned to take notice of it — 
the ironical and disparaging manner in 
which I speak of myself. 

You mention to me also the sex of 
your other correspondent ; I thank you 
for reassuring me on that point, but as 
my jealousy was of an altogether spirit- 
ual nature, it is a matter of little con- 
sequence to me. 

To answer me by giving me your con- 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 273 

fidence — this would be the act of an 
imbecile, considering that you do not 
know me. Would it be to take ad- 
vantage of your sensibility, Monsieur, 
to recall to your mind, as a settler, the 
death of Henry IV ? To answer me 
by giving me your confidence, since you 
thought that I asked it from you by re- 
turn of post, would have been to amuse 
yourself wittily at my expense ; and if I 
had been in your place I should have 
done so, for I am sometimes merry 
enough — although I am often sad too — 
to dream of exchanging confidences by 
letter with an unknown philosopher, 
and sharing his impressions of the car- 
nival. That description, two columns 
long, was altogether satisfactory, and 
very graphic. I read it over three 
times, but in exchange, what an old 



274 * LETTERS OF 



story, that of the old mother who 
avenees herself on the Prussians ! 
(That must have occurred about the 
time you were reading my letter.) 

As for the charm conferred by mys- 
tery, everything depends upon taste. 
That it does not amuse you — very 
good ; but that it amuses me intensely 
I confess in all sincerity, as I do the in- 
fantile delight given me by your letter, 
such as it was. 

And then, if that sort of thing does 
not amuse you, it is because not one of 
your sixty correspondents has been able 
to awaken an interest in you — that is 
all, and if I have not been able to strike 
the right chord, either, I am too reason- 
able to bear you any ill will on that ac- 
count. 

Only sixty ? I should have sup- 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 275 

posed you besieged by a greater num- 
ber. Have you answered them all ? 

Perhaps my mental qualities do not 
suit you — in which case you would be 
hard to please ; in short, I imagine 
that I know you (this, too, is the 
effect novelists produce on weak- 
headed women of the middle classes). 
It may be that you are right, how- 
ever. 

As I write to you with the utmost 
frankness, in consequence of the feel- 
ing I have mentioned, you think me, 
perhaps, a sentimental young person, 
or even an adventuress. This would 
be very vexatious. Make no excuses, 
therefore, for your want of romance, of 
gallantry, etc. 

Decidedly my letter must have been 
stupid. 



2 7 6 LETTERS OF 



To my great regret, then, it seems 
we must remain as we are — unless I 
should take the notion some day to 
prove to you that I do not deserve to 
be number 61. As for your reason- 
ing, it is sound ; but you are mistaken 
in the facts. I forgive you for it, 
then, and even for the erasures, and 
the old woman, and the Prussians ! 

May you be happy ! 

However, if you need only a vague 
description to induce you to disclose 
to me the beauties of your withered 
and scentless soul, take this : Fair 
hair, medium height, born sometime 
between 1812 and 1863. And intel- 
lectually ! — no, I should seem a brag- 
gart and you would know at once that 
I was from Marseilles. 

P. S. — Excuse the blots, erasures, etc. 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 277 



But I have already copied my letter 
three times ! 



To the Same. 

You are horribly bored ! 

Ah, cruel one ! You say this in or- 
der to leave me no illusion regarding 
the cause of your favor of — which for 
ttie rest arrived very opportunely and 
delighted me. 

It is true that I am only amusing 
myself, but it is not true that I am as 
well acquainted with you as you say. 
I assure you solemnly that I do not 
even know the color of your complex- 
ion or your height, and of your pri- 
vate character I know only as much 
as I gather from the lines you favor me 
with, and that through the disguise of 



LETTERS OF 



not a little evil-mindedness and affecta- 
tion. 

In short, for a dull naturalist, you 
are not stupid, and my answer would 
be a volume if I did not restrain myself 
through vanity. I must not let you 
think that all my energy goes in that 
direction. 

Let us settle accounts about the old 
stories, in the first place, if you will ; 
that will take some time, for do you 
know that you overwhelm me with 
them? You are right — in the main. 

But art consists precisely in making 
us admire old stones, charming us^with 
them eternally, as Nature charms with 
her eternal sun, her ancient earth, and 
her men built all on the same pattern, 
and all animated by the same feelings ; 
but — there are also musicians who have 



MARIE BASH KIR TSEFF. 279 

only a few notes, and painters who have 
only a few colors. And then, you 
know as well as I do that you wish to 
make me pose. Why, then, I am only 
too highly honored. 

Old stories, let it be ! — the mother in 
the power of the Prussians in litera- 
ture, and Jeanne d'Arc in painting. 

Are you in truth sure that a wit (is 
that the word) would not find in them 
a new and touching side? 

As a weekly chronicle, indeed, your 
letter is well enough, and what I say 
of it — and those other old stories about 
your profession being a hard one ! 
You take me for a bourgeoise who takes 
you for a poet, and you endeavor to 
enlighten me. George Sand boasted 
of writing for money, and the industri- 
ous Flaubert bewailed his poverty. 



2 So LEVTERS OF 



The suffering he makes others feel he 
felt himself. Balzac made no such 
complaint but was always full of enthu- 
siasm for his work. As for Montes- 
quieu, if I may venture to express an 
opinion, his taste for study was so keen 
that, as it was the source of his fame, 
it was also the source of his happiness, 
as the undermistress of your imaginary 
school would say. 

As far as being well paid is con- 
cerned, it is all very well, for no one 
was ever really famous without being 
also rich, as the Jew Baahrou, the con- 
temporary of Job, says. (Fragments 
preserved by the learned Spitzbube, of 
Berlin.) And then, everything gains 
by a good setting — beauty, genius, even 
religion. Did not God come himself 
to give directions to his servant Moses 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 281 

concerning the ornaments of the taber- 
nacle, explaining to him that the cher- 
ubim on either side should be of gold, 
and of exquisite workmanship. 

So then, you are bored, and you 
look upon everything with indifference, 
and you have not a spark of poetry in 
your soul? Do you think in this way 
to frighten me ? I fancy I can see 
you now ; you have a rotund figure, 
vou wear a waistcoat of an undecided 
color, too short for you, and with the 
last button unfastened. Well, even so, 
you interest me. What I cannot un- 
derstand is how you should be bored. 
I myself am sometimes sad, discour- 
aged, enraged, but bored — never! 

You are not the man I am in search 
of? 

I am in search of no one, Monsieur, 



282 LETTERS OF 



and I think that, for a strong-minded 
woman (the dried up old maid), men 
should be only accessories. 

The dried-up old maid — misery ! there 
she comes — the concierge. "Would 
you be so kind as to tell me how this 
is done?" . 

At last I am going to answer your 
questions, and with perfect frankness, 
for I do not like to take advantage of 
the simplicity of a man of genius who 
goes to sleep after dinner smoking his 
cigar. 

Am I slender? Oh, no ; but neither 
am I stout. Worldly, sentimental, 
romantic? But what meaning do 
you attach to those words? It seems 
to me that there is room for them 
all in one and the same person, 
everything depends on the time, the 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 283 

occasion, the circumstances. I am an 
opportunistc, and peculiarly susceptible 
to moral contagion ; therefore I may 
in time become as unromantic as you 
are. What perfume do I use? — Vir- 
tue. Vulgo, none. 

Yes, I am a gourmande ; or rather, 
I have a fastidious appetite. I have 
small ears, not very well shaped, but 
pretty ; my eyes are gray. Yes, I am 
a musician, but probably not so good 
a pianist as your under-school-mis- 
tress. 

Are you satisfied with my docility ? 
If so, unfasten another button of your 
waistcoat and think of me when the 
twilight shades are falling. If not — so 
much the worse ; I think I have given 
you a great deal in exchange for your 
pretended confidences. 



284 LETTERS OF 



May I venture to ask you which are 
your favorite musicians and painters? 
And how if I were a man P 1 



To the Same. 

I am now going to tell you some- 
thing which may seem incredible, 
which you, especially, will never be- 
lieve and which, coming after the event, 
has only a historical value. It is that 
I, too, have had enough of it. At your 
third letter my enthusiasm was cooled. 
Satiety ? 

And then, I prize only that which I 
am not sure of. I should, then, now 
come to you. 

1 To this letter is appended a sketch representing a 
stout man sitting asleep in an easy chair, under the 
shade of a palm tree on the seashore ; beside him is 
a table on which are a glass of beer and a cigar. 



MAN IE BASHK1RTSEFF. 285 

Why did I first write to you ? I 
awoke one fine morning and found that 
I was a wonderful being surrounded by 
fools. It grieved me to see the pre- 
cious pearls of my genius thrown be- 
fore swine 

What if I were to write to some fa- 
mous man, a man worthy of compre- 
hending me ? That would be charm- 
ing, romantic, and — who could tell ? — 
after a certain number of letters I 
should perhaps, in this novel way, have 
acquired a friend. Then I asked my- 
self who this man should be, and I 
selected you ! 

Such a correspondence could be pos- 
sible only under two conditions. 

The second of these is an ttnbonnded 
admiration on the part of the unknown. 
From an unbounded admiration arises 



286 LETTERS OF 



a bond of sympathy which causes one 
to express one's self in such a way as 
will inevitably touch and interest the 
famous man. 

Neither of these conditions exists 
here. I chose you with the hope of 
conceiving for you, later on, an un- 
bounded admiration ! For I then 
thought you comparatively young. I 
began, then, with feigning admiration 
for you, and I have ended by saying 
" unbecoming" and even rude things to 
you, admitting what you have conde- 
scended to perceive. At the point at 
which we have arrived, I may confess 
that your odious letter has made me 
pass a very bad day. 

I feel as deeply wounded as if I had 
received a real offense, which is ab- 
surd. 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 287 

Adieu, with pleasure. 

If you still keep them, send me my 
autographs ; as for yours, I have al- 
ready sold them in America at a ridic- 
ulous price. 



To the Same. 

I understand your distrust. It is 
very unlikely that a woman comme il 
fatit, who is both young and pretty, 
should amuse herself writing to you. 
Is that it? But, Monsieur — but I was 
going to forget that all is over be- 
tween us. I think you deceive your- 
self. And it is very good of me to 
tell you so, for it will make me cease 
to be interesting to you, if I have ever 
been so. You shall see how I put my- 
self in your place. An unknown ap- 



LETTERS OF 



pears upon the horizon ; if the adven- 
ture is easy, it has no attraction for 
me ; if impossible, it would be useless, 
and a bore to attempt it. 

I have not the happiness to be be- 
tween these two extremes, and I tell 
you so good-naturedly, since we have 
made up. 

What I find very amusing is, that 
while I am telling you the simple truth 
you imagine that I am trying to mys- 
tify you. 

I do not go into republican society, 
although I am a red republican ? 

No, because I do not wish to meet 
you. 

And you, do you not, then, desire a 
little romance in the midst of your 
Parisian materialism ? A spiritual 
friendship ? I do not refuse to meet 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 



you, and I am even going to make ar- 
rangements for doing so without giv- 
ing you notice. If you knew that you 
were being observed for a purpose it 
might make you look foolish. This 
must be avoided. Your terrestrial en- 
velope is indifferent to me, it is true ; 
but is mine so to you ? Let us sup- 
pose that you should have the bad 
taste not to find me a wonderful being, 
do you think I should be satisfied, 
however innocent my intentions ? I 
do not say but that some day — I even 
count upon surprising you not a little 
on that day. 

Meantime, if it bores you, let us not 
write to each other any more. I re- 
serve to myself the right, however, of 
writing to you, when any atrocity 
comes into my head. 



290 LETTERS OF 



You distrust me ; that is very natural. 

Well, then, I am going to give you 
such a means as a woman of the people 
might give you of convincing yourself 
that I am not a woman of the people. 

Only do not laugh. 

Go to a clairvoyant, and let him 
sense my letter, and he will tell you my 
age, the color of my hair, my sur- 
roundings, etc. 

You will write to let me know what 
he has revealed to you. 

" Humbug, stupidity, nonsense," you 
will say. 

Ah ! Monsieur, that is perfectly 
true ; even I do not deny it. But in 
my case it is because I desire great 
things which I have not attained — yet. 
And with you the same must be the 
case. 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 291 

I am not so simple as to ask you 
what are your secret aspirations, al- 
though my illness has revived in me 
a candor a la Cherie. 

How natf'is that old Japanese natu- 
ralist in a Louis XV wig ! 

And you think that after writing, 
nothing would be simpler than to come 
and say, " I am he." 

I assure you, that that would annoy 
me exceedingly. 

They say you admire only strong- 
minded women with black hair. 

Is that true ? 

To see each other ! Let me then, 

charm you by 'my literature, you 

who have had such success in that 
line ! 



292 LETTERS OF 



To the Same. 

In writing to you again I ruin my- 
self forever in your estimation. But 
that is a matter of indifference to me, 
and then, I do it only to avenge my- 
self — oh, only by telling you the result 
of your ruse to discover what my dispo- 
sition was. 

I was positively afraid to send to the 
post-office, imagining a thousand ab- 
surd things. This man will probably 
end our correspondence by — considera- 
tion for your modesty forbids me to 
proceed. And as I opened the enve- 
lope I prepared myself for anything, so 
as not to be surprised. 

I was surprised, however, but agree- 
ably so. 

Devant les doux accents d'un noble repentir 
Me faut-il done, seigneur, cesser de vous hair ? 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 293 



Unless, indeed, this be another ruse. 
Flattered at bein^ taken for a woman 
of the world she will try to act the 
character after drawing forth a human 
document that I am very well pleased 
to be able to explain in this way. 

Then why was I displeased? This 
is perhaps not a conclusive proof that 
I was so, dear Monsieur. In fine, 
adieu. I forgive you, if you care for 
my forgiveness, because I am ill, and as 
that is a rare thing with me, I am full 
of compassion for myself, for every one, 
for you ! who have found the means 
of making yourself so extremely — dis- 
agreeable to me. I take the less 
trouble to deny the accusation, as you 
will in any case believe what you 
choose in the matter. 

How shall I prove to you that 



294 LETTERS OF 



neither am I playing a part, nor am I 
your enemy ? 

And to what end should I try to do 
so ? 

It would be equally impossible to 
try to convince you that we are made 
to understand each other. You are 
not my equal. I am sorry for it. 
Nothing would give me greater pleas- 
ure than to be able to acknowledge 
your superiority— or that of any one 
else. 

I should like to have some one to 
talk to. Your last article was interest- 
ing, and I even wished, apropos of 
girls, to put a plain question to 
you. 

But 

An innocent remark in your letter, 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 295 

however, has given me food for 
thought. 

It distresses you to have given me 
pain. This is either very silly or very 
charming. You may ridicule me, but 
that will only make me laugh. Yes, it 
was a slight attack of romanticism you 
had — a la Stendhal, nothing more ; 
but make your mind easy, you will not 
die of it this time. 

Good-night. 



To Baron de Saint-Amand. 

30 Rue Ampere, April. 
My Dear Friend : 

Ah ! how I should like to have a 
salon where literature and society 
should both be represented — an inter- 



296 LETTERS OF 



esting salon. That would be to enjoy 
life and to work at the same time. 

The days follow one another, time 
flies, life is passing away. 

And a moderate amount of success 
would not compensate me for what I 
have suffered ; for this a dazzling 
success, a triumph would be neces- 
sary — a revenge on fate. 

The truth is that I have always ex- 
perienced, and that I experience more 
and more every day, an imperious 
necessity to write. I invent stories, I 
see real and imaginary events. Dumas 
says that the dominating faculty of 
woman is intuition. Well, bv intuition 
I comprehend, I see, I know extraordi- 
nary things, but when I find myself in 
the midst of my papers — for I have a 
large portfolio full of notes 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 297 

When I write, my glance falls on the 
fingers of my left hand ; those living, 
nervous fingers make me think of Jules 
Bastien-Lepage's painting ; the hands 
he paints are so life-like ; the skin is 
real, the muscles look as if they were 
going to move. 

You know that I go every day to 
Sevres. My picture has taken com- 
plete possession of me — the young girl 
sitting in a revery, at the foot of the 
apple-tree, " languid and intoxicated," 
as Andre Theuriet says, by the balmy 
air. If I succeed in rendering the 
effect of the budding life of spring, of 
the sunshine, it will be beautiful. 

Good-by for a while. 



298 LETTERS OE 



To her Brother. 

Rue Ampere, Paris, 

Friday, May 30. 
Dear Paul : 

Mme. Z is a queer little woman ; 

her husband is a senator, besides being 
a savanl, a litterateur, a man of ability, 
who has translated the masterpieces of 
the Russian language, and worn mourn- 
ing for Gambetta. On the occasion of 
her first visit to Paris she went to see 
" Severo Torelli," a drama of Francois 
Coppee, at the Odeon. Enchanted by 
it, she went to the doorkeeper of the 
theater to ask for the author's address, 
in order to express her admiration to 
him. 

This was what is not to be seen in 
France — genuine enthusiasm express- 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 299 

ing itself frankly, without fear of ridi- 
cule. 

She then wrote to Coppee, obtained 
an interview, wrote to him again from 
Rome, and brought him from there a 
picture, a copy of a Madonna. The 
poet wrote to her thanking her for the 
picture and expressing his regret at be- 
ing unable to do so personally, his time 
not being at his own disposal. Mme. 

Z was not discouraged, and it never 

occurred to her that she might be bor- 
ing him. She charged me to write a 
dispatch to Coppee, as follows : 

Monsieur : 

I remain here until Saturday, and I have been 
forced by four enthusiastic young girls to promise 
them that they shall see Francois Coppee. How- 
ever accustomed you may be to receiving hom- 
age, you cannot refuse that of these youthful ad- 



3°° LETTERS OF 



mirers, which has at least the merit of being sin- 
cere. Tell us then when we may expect you. 

Z. Z. 

Yesterday we received the answer 
of Francois Coppee, of the French 
Academy, saying that he would have 
the honor of presenting himself at Mme. 

Z 's, on Friday, at half-past one, or 

two at the furthest. 

And at 2 o'clock he was there in our 
drawing-room, with mamma, Mme. 

Z , Mile. S , Mme. Z 's niece, 

Dina, and myself. 

You know that I am very self-pos- 
sessed, but I was one of the four en- 
thusiastic young girls ; although he 
must have observed that I did not look 
so silly as the others. The Canroberts 
have dined with him at the Prin- 
:ess Mathilde's ; he had conversed 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 301 



with Claire, and I spoke to him of 
her. 

He seated himself in an arm-chair, 
drank some tea, and smoked. The tea- 
table was brought in with the tea already 
served, as on the stage, and at one time 
we were all six watching him at once, as 
he drank his tea. He noticed it, and the 
great poet carried his amiability so far 
as to ask to see my studio, and to re- 
quest me, when he was taking his leave, 
to send him word when I should have 
a new picture to show. 

He is very agreeable, but his appear- 
ance is somewhat remarkable. I am 
very glad to know him. He has blue 
eyes, and he looked at me steadily as 
he spoke, as if he wished to discover 
what my thoughts were. 

In short, this Parisian must have been 



3° 2 LETTERS OF 



very much embarrassed by the serious 
admiration of which he found himself 
the object. Good-by. 



To M. Henry Ho us say e, of the Revue des Deux 
Mondes. 

Monsieur : 

Foreigners are like the great Mo- 
liere ; they take what suits them, where- 
ever they find it. If we had been 
imitators, this might serve as our ex- 
cuse. What is surprising is that an 
art critic of your merit should say that 
one copies such or such a painter by 
such or such a system ; that one em- 
ploys such or such a process, because 
one does not settle down forever in a 
specialty dear to the dealers. 

Neither M. Bastien-Lepage nor the 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 303 

troop of foreigners whom you mention 
dream, I think, of following or adjur- 
ing Japanese, or primitive, or any 
other style of art. They copy what 
they see with sincerity, without artifice, 
with more or less ability. If they find 
their subject in the street, they work in 
the street ; if in a studio, they work in 
the studio. You are too observant not 
to have noticed the differences in the 
various kinds of light. To paint 
sailors on the seashore, in the open 
air, where the light is difficult to man- 
age, ox gamins at the street corner where 
one sees them, is this to follow a sys- 
tem ? 

Be just. If a painter were to give 
an interior the same atmosphere as an 
out-of-doors scene, that would be a 
system, conventional treatment. We 



3°4 LETTERS OF 



have not done this. We have painted 
our subjects as we have seen them, to 
the best of our ability. Excuse these 
few remarks and do not slander us. 
One of the Foreign Painters mentioned. 



To M. Edmond de Goncourt. 

Monsieur : 

Like all the rest of the world I have 
read " Cherie," and, between ourselves, 
the book is full of poor passages. She 
who has the boldness to write to you 
now is a young girl who was brought 
up among luxurious, fashionable, at 
times peculiar surroundings. This 
young girl, who three months ago, 
completed her twenty-third year, is 
well-educated, an artist, and ambitious. 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 3°5 

She has several note-books, which con- 
tain her impressions as she has re- 
corded them, from the time she was 
twelve years old. She has concealed 
nothing. The young girl in question 
is, besides, endowed with a feeling of 
pride, which has obliged her in these 
notes to set herself down exactly as 
she is. 

To show these records to any one 
would be to lay bare to him her in- 
most soul. But she has a love for all 
true art — excessive, insensate, if you 
will. She thinks it would interest you 
to see this journal. You have said 
somewhere that you read with delight 
the record of any real experience. 
Well, she who has accomplished noth- 
ing as yet, but who has the vanity to 
think she already comprehends the 



306 LETTERS OF 



sentiments of men of genius, shares 
your feeling, and at the risk of appear- 
ing in your eyes a madwoman or an 
impostor, offers you her journal. Only 
you will understand, Monsieur, the ne- 
cessity of observing absolute secrecy 
in the matter. The young girl resides 
in Paris, goes into society, and the 
people whom she mentions are all liv- 
ing. This letter is addressed to a great 
writer, to an artist, to a savant, and 
consequently requires no excuse, in 
my opinion. But by most people, by 
those around me, I should be looked 
upon as either insane or reprobate if 
they were to know what I have written 
to you. 

I at one time wished to form an 
epistolary friendship with some young 
writer of genius, with the object of be- 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 3° 7 

queathing to him my journal (at that 
time it was thought that I had not 
long to live). I prefer to give it to you 
during my lifetime. 

If you think that what I desire is 
your autograph, you need not sign what 
you do me the honor to write to me. 
J. R. I. (poste rest ante). 



To M. Emile Zola. 

Monsieur: 

I have read all that you have ever 
written, without missing a single word. 
If you have ever so slight a conscious- 
ness of your own merits, you will un- 
derstand my enthusiasm. And in or- 
der that you may not think this enthus- 
iasm mere silly gush, I will say that I 
am very exacting and very critical in 



3° 8 LETTERS OF 



the matter of literature, having read al- 
most everything, in addition to having 
studied the classics, although I am a 
woman. 

You are a great savant and a great 
artist, but the quality in you which 
more particularly excites my admiration 
is your love for Truth. I have the au- 
dacity to share it. Is it not audacity 
to say I share anything with a great 
genius like you ? 

I know well that you are above being 
flattered by the admiration of anony- 
mous correspondents, you cannot be 
pleased by the wretched homage of " a 
woman who approaches you, etc." But 
the feeling that forces me to write 
to you is irresistible, and if I only 
knew how to express myself you would 
be touched by it. 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 309 

I could wish you to be alone and in 
need of pity. Here is a very feminine, 
a very romantic, and a very common- 
place sentiment, which I fancy I feel 
differently from others. Do not think 
that I am overflowing with ridiculous 
sensibility. I am not an adventuress, 
nor even a woman to whom adventures 
would be'possible, although I am young. 
But I confess that I am foolish enough 
to have cherished the impossible dream 
of an epistolary friendship with you, 
and if you knew what a formidable 
being you are in my eyes you would 
laugh at my courage. 

I do not suppose that you will an- 
swer me. They say you are in private 
life a complete bourgeois. 

That would give me pain, but accept, 
in any case, Monsieur, the homage of 



3!Q LETTERS OE 



the most profound, the truest, and the 
sincerest admiration. 



To M . 

Can it be possible that in all Paris, 
among the thousands of journals which 
abound here, there is not one to be 
found in which a man who belongs to 
no party, or in which men belonging 
to different parties may freely express 
an opinion, may defend or attack this 
or that man or idea without therefor 
committing themselves to some po- 
litical clique, and submitting to be 
labelled and classified according to a 
system whicli forces on them certain 
obligations and reticences — an inde- 
pendent journal, in short, a journal 
without party prejudices, Alas ! they 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 31 * 

almost all declare they have no party 
prejudices and they are all alike illib- 
eral routiniers and prejudiced. 

Where is the republican journal that 
would do justice to an original idea of 
a churchman ? They would say that 
those people have no ideas. But 
let us suppose them to have such 
ideas. 

Where is the reactionary journal, 
whose columns are not constantly filled 
with stupid, pointless, and tiresome at- 
tacks on the Republic ? 

There are so-called ministerial jour- 
nals, which either approve unreserv- 
edly or maintain silence when they 
should censure. Such journals are 
wanting in patriotism. 

There is the radical journal, which 
holds the wildest political views, but 



3*2 LETTERS OF 



which has on its side the diabolical wit 
of M. de Rochefort. 

There are clerico-Bonapartist jour- 
nals, journals devoted to cabbage cul- 
ture and to vine culture, but an inde- 
pendent journal in which any one may- 
express his idea, provided only it be a 
good one, or plead his cause, provided 
he do so with ability, there is none ! 

You hate the folly of people who 
will have a master at any cost, and you 
say that it needs the soul of a valet to 
love a monarchy. You are a republi- 
can. Very good. What then ? 

Under pain of forfeiture you are 
compelled to disapprove of everything 
that those of any other party say or do. 

Do you approve an act of the 
government ? You are bought by the 
ministers ! 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 3 1 3 

Do you speak in eulogistic terms of 
Gambetta ? You are an opportuniste, 
then, a sorry creature, an imbecile who 
does not understand a word about the 
matter. The opportuniste is a man 
who does everything with a purpose. 
Could there be anything more sensible ? 
But you hate, that is to say, you envy 
Gambetta ; and in your eyes an oppor- 
tuniste is a man who has all the evil 
tendencies you choose to attribute to 
him. 

Discover justice in a demand a la 
Ruggieri, of M. Rochefort, and you are 
attacked as a leveler, a radical. This 
is another excellent word, whose mean- 
ing, like that of the word opportuniste, 
has been distorted. Who is there who 
is not a radical when he ardently de- 
sires to accomplish any purpose. 



314 LETTERS OF 



Then there is no way in which one 
can be an honest citizen and express 
one's self freely in regard to public 
events, giving one's views concerning 
them without first thinking of what 
spectacles he must put on to observe 
them through ? It seems not. 

Suppose a writer has given utter- 
ance to republican sentiments and 
afterward allows himself to be just to — 
Prince Napoleon, let us say ; to find 
that he has wit or genius. It will im- 
mediately be asked : 

" By whom is he paid ?" 

Is it not a maneuver to discredit 
X , to attach him, in spite of him- 
self, to the party of Z ? 

Sad, sad. 

The journal you sigh for is a journal 
of amateurs, then ? Precisely ! A ma- 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 315 

teurs of liberty. A journal that would 
be capable of defending the capacity 
of M. Jules Simon or of Prince Napo- 
leon, the talent of Gambetta or the wit 
of Rochefort, or of bearing witness to 
the weakness of M. Clemenceau. A 
journal which should flatter no pas- 
sion, in short. But that is not possi- 
ble, they say ; for if you find amateurs 
to write you will find none to read, and 
from our earliest infancy the words 
read and write have been inseparably 
associated in our minds. 

Ah, bah ! Is there not, then, to be 
found in France a handful of people 
who, like us, are disgusted with party 
prejudice ; who say to themselves, like 
us, that there is only one France, one 
party, and that every man useful to the 
state should be employed ; that all 



316 LETTERS OF 



talent should be protected, all waste 
stopped ? What ! is there not a hand- 
ful of men to be found who, scorning 
the stupid accusations that may be 
brought against them, will be content 
to proclaim themselves honestly proud 
of their country's glory and ready to 
support men of talent in whatever rank 
they may be classed by the amateurs in 
ticketing, and equally ready to censure 
whatever seems to them reprehensible, 
however exalted its source ? 

An ideal journal where one could 
say, for instance, that one loved the 
Republic and admired Gambetta, but 
in which one could also express one's 
surprise that so eminent a man should 
allow such a piece of folly as the 
expulsion of the Jesuits to be com- 
mitted. The Jesuits and other relig- 



MARIE BASI1KIRTSEFF. 3 J 7 

ious orders are dangerous — well, then, 
get rid of them ! It is your place to 
find the means of doing so — you are the 
government, you are our intelligence. 
M. Gambetta allows follies to be per- 
petrated, to prove, 'perhaps, that he is 
not all-powerful. And where is the 
harm of being thought so, as M. Ranc 
has said ? 

A journal in which one could express 
one's surprise at the injustice done to 
the eminent qualities of Prince Napo- 
leon, without being suspected of being 
in the pay of Plon-Plon ; one's contempt 
of the Bonapartist party and one's regret 
that the before-mentioned citizen should 
be surrounded by men who discredit, 
while thinking they serve him. The 
only good statesmanship is that which 
succeeds, they say. Succeeds in what ? 



3i8 LETTERS OF 



Let the citizen Jerdme go into busi- 
ness or rid him by a miracle of the 
compromising and compromised name 
he bears, for otherwise how could you 
expect him to succeed. Whatever the 
Bonapartist party may be now, before 
the death of the young prince he some- 
times received the popular suffrages ; 
now this is not the case. 

Go explain to the electors the inten- 
tions of the prince, those, at least, 
which he proclaims, and he will again 
receive their suffrages, but not in the 
way you wish. Either he is very de- 
ceitful or he is excessively liberal as 
well as highly intelligent. He should 
not believe in his rights. If he does, 
we retract all we have said. 

Explain Prince Napoleon's inten- 
tions to the electors ! We shall take 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 3 r 9 

good care not to do so. The policy of 
Napoleon III must be carried out. 
Ah ! And the attitude of the prince 
on the night of the coup d'etat ; and 
his political views, are they so opposed 
to those of his cousin ? Ingratitude — 
a fine word, and what an effect it pro- 
duces ! We are far, alas, from the 
severity of morals of the ancient Ro- 
mans, and where is the brother or the 
cousin who does not profit, be it ever 
so slightly, by the position of his rela- 
tion ? Perhaps the prince will not be 
pleased to be defended by us. For we 
frankly throw overboard both his rights 
and the Bonapartist party — that party 
which says : Let him be what he will so 
that he be successful. Ah, wretches ! 

And progress, and patriotism, and 
honesty — are these not to be taken 



3 2 ° LETTERS OF 



into account ? Here is a man who has 
places at his disposal. Their convic- 
tions are social prejudices and the hope 
of recovering a lost position. The 
most prominent, the strongest of them 
will tell you seriously that their habits, 
their education, forbid them to associ- 
ate with people who do not wash their 
hands. Innocent excuse ! As if it had 
not been long since proved that the 
clergy are those who wash themselves 
least and that the unfortunate children 
in the convents are given a bath once a 
month, and then in the dark. 

But we have said a great deal about 
Mv Jerome Bonaparte. 

Ah, then, so much the worse. It is 
a logical beginning. 

Who will doubt of our independence, 
seeing us making a quasi-eulogy of the 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 3 21 

most unpopular man in France — unless 
they accuse us of being subsidized by 
him ! 

Horrible social chaos ! 



To M. Tony Robert-Fleury. 

30 Rue Ampere, Paris. 
Monsieur : 

I have just learned with surprise that 
the chagrin I felt in the matter of the 
Salon medal has been misconstrued by 
you into a feeling of animosity on my 
part toward yourself. And as it is 
chiefly to you that I owe my artistic 
education, I do not wish to let such a 
misconception remain in your mind an 
instant longer than I can help. I 
make no apology, as I have none to 
make, but I greatly desire that my 



322 LETTERS OF 



words, my complaints, and my indigna- 
tion, which I persist in thinking justifi- 
able, may not be misinterpreted. 

I am perfectly conscious of all that 
has been done for me ; you, alone, 
could do no more ; you see, then, that 
I am not very unreasonable. 

Accept, my dear master, the ex- 
pression of my highest consideration. 



To M. Sully -Prudliomme. 

June. 
Monsieur : 

I have just read, and understood, as 
I think, " Lucrece," and the " Preface" 
to it. Do not thank me for this, al- 
though without being either old or 
ugly, I have read, in addition to your 
" Lucrece," all that you have ever 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 3 2 3 

written. Repay me now in kind. What 
I write will be neither so fine nor so 
voluminous. 

And indeed I am at a loss what to 
say; frightened at my audacity (an 
embryo blue-stocking), naturally I can- 
not succeed in expressing myself as I 
wish. You are of too serious a dispo- 
sition to attach any value to letters 
from an unknown correspondent ; you 
are forty years of age, you have many 
old friends — what would you do with a 
new adorer? And yet I have cherished 
the hope, a very naive one, probably, 
and worthy of the days of 1830, of 
gaining your friendship through a cor- 
respondence with you. 

I might content myself with making 
your personal acquaintance, but then I 
could only say commonplaces to you. 



324 LETTERS OF 



While under my incognito I can frankly 
tell you that 1 have the daring and the 
presumption to understand and to share 
your most delicate thoughts, which I 
could not say to you viva voce. And, 
in general, poetry produces no effect 
upon me except when it is bad ; then 
it makes me impatient. If it pleases 
people to rhyme, let them rhyme, so 
long as I am not obliged to read their 
verses. 

I understood the work, but I found it 
necessary, in order to do so, to concen- 
trate my thoughts. It is in vain that I 
tell myself that the management of 
ideas is familiar to you and that I am 
very silly to admire your skill in the 
expression and arrangement of your 
thou oh ts. 

For you, on your side, must also ad- 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 3 2 5 

mire the skill of the painter who ma- 
nipulates his colors and makes with 
them, by means of combinations which 
you do not understand, varied and 
beautiful pictures. But doubtless you 
think your work of rummaging use- 
lessly among the secret chambers of 
human thought far superior to the work 
of the painter. 



To the Same. 

Ah ! Monsieur : 

I am indeed filled with profound es- 
teem for you, the more so as I found 
it harder to understand your preface 
to " Lucrece " than the work itself. 
It is infinitely more difficult to under- 
stand than the philosophy of the an- 
cients, and I have so high an opinion of 



26 LETTERS OF 



my own intelligence that any one who 
succeeds in puzzling me becomes in 
my eyes a giant. This is the case with 
you. I had read all your works, with 
the exception of " Lucrece," and seeing 
you manage these abstruse subjects so 
easily, I experience a veneration akin to 
worship for you. 



To M. Julian. 

Dear Master : 

I see that you wish to take the place 

of M . Your letter is very pretty 

but, as usual, you attribute meannesses 
to me which you believe on the author- 
ity of the gossips of the studio. I have 
never insulted any one there. I have 
too much delicacy of feeling to do so 
consciously. And I am not sufficiently 



MARIE BASH KIR TSEFF. 327 

stupid to do so unconsciously. One 
must be base to wish to humiliate an 
inferior. As to the remarks about car- 
riages, dinners, etc., no one who has ever 
known me could suppose me capable of 
making them. 

I have said that you attribute mean- 
nesses to me, but as my conscience is 
clear I am not affected by your doing 
so. It would be a waste of time to try 
to convince people. As to my talent, 
I hold it in high esteem, and not even 
in my dreams would I compare myself 
to your protege. Few painters have 
notices like those which I have received 
this year. I have, besides, just sold 
two studies, one to an amateur and one 
to a dealer, both of them strangers to 
me. 

It is easilv seen that I must have 



328 LETTERS OF 



provoked you to make you say things 
you cannot believe. If I wrote to you 
to retract what I said, it was under the 
influence of T. R. F., who says that you 
had been very friendly toward me. 
And also because I have reflected that, 

after all, to prefer the ridiculous X 

to me is to me no injury. You are free 
to do so, only it is amusing, that is all. 
And then, you and I can never quar- 
rel ; it is altogether impossible. Al- 
though you may pretend to think ill of 
me in order to tease me, you know very 
well in your heart that I am the truest, 
the most admirable, the most just, the 
greatest, and the most loyal creature 
in the world. I speak seriously. You 
know I care nothing for those who do not 
understand me ; those whom I do care 
for, understand me. And then I am 



MARIE BASHKIR TSEFF. 3 2 9 

on the eve of obtaining a European 
reputation. Quarrel with so admi- 
rable and wonderful a being? How 
absurd ! 

I cannot better reply to your witty 
letter than by eulogizing myself, a 
eulogy deduced from and based upon 
a profound knowledge of myself, of 
this wonderful and unique me, who 
fills me with delight, and whom, like 
Narcissus, I adore ! Find me in all 
Paris, if you can, any one who could 
write such a composition at a stroke. 
Doubtless, if you compare my talent as 
a painter to my talent as a pamphleteer 
and polemist — 



APPENDIX. 



My dear children, Alexis and Bojidar : 
Do not weep with joy when your 
eyes fall on these characters traced by 
my own hand. 

I want to know what your plans are 
— that is to say, those of Alexis, for at 
present he is the model I dream of for 
my picture, which I have begun to 
paint in a garden filled with the most 
luscious fruits ; seriously, it is at Passy, 
and is charming ; the railroad passes 
close by ; it is an ideal garden. Let 
Alexis then, the Alexis of my picture, 
inform me without delay if I can count 
upon him for a couple of sittings dur- 



330 



APPENDIX. 331 



ing the present month. In September, 
as you know, my twenty-nine gowns 
will take me to Biarritz. But I foresee 
that you will soon return. Julian needs 
Bojidar and I need Alexis, without 
whom the picture would run a very 
poor chance of being finished. Good- 
by, dear and venerated co-religionists. 
Do not slight my request. 

Andrey. 
P. S. — If the sea air has not turned 
you into salt, answer quickly, giving 
your common consent, but in a dis- 
tingue style. 



Illustrious Pupil : 

Your papa St. Amand will give you 
this letter. Be very obedient and take 
this great man's advice in everything. 



33 2 APPENDIX 



You have dared to remain eight days 
without letting Circe hear from you, 
which makes me think that she has al- 
ready transformed you into a — I will 
not say what. You do not deserve, 
then, that I should cast before you the 
pearls of my genius. Think of her and 
of them. You will never be anything 
unless you respect the great artists. 
Good-night. 



Dear Bojidar : 

M. S has gone away, leaving his 

affairs in great disorder, and even 
those who reeard him with the most 
indulgence do not hesitate to speak 
very seriously about the matter. 
Amone other stories there is one about 
a duel on account of a blow given by 



APPENDIX. 333 



-, at Monaco. He has simply fled, 



after having been publicly branded as 
a. coward by Tarderet and Mestayer. 
Barnola was unlucky in having given 
him lodoinos. In short, do not p'o to 
see him in Paris ; it is to tell you this 
that I write to you now. 

I cannot get that crazy Bernhardt 
out of my mind, and the more I think 
of her, the more I think that when she 
committed that piece of idiotic folly 
she must have been raving mad. 

Good-by. 

Andrey. 

Have you seen M. Julian? 



I don't know to what letter of 
About's you have reference, O Couve- 
let ! Notwithstanding the disrespect- 



334 APPENDIX. 



ful way in which you treat Mother 
Joseph, I want to tell you that we were 
present at the grand civic review at 
Longchamps by Martineux and his 
ministers. Although the spectators 
(who were not very numerous) were 
closely packed together, the authori- 
ties were able to regain their equip- 
ages without difficulty, thanks to Jo- 
seph, who was intrusted with the duty 
of calling the state coaches. You 
were not mistaken, O Couvelet ! you 
uttered a great truth ; Joseph was 
really put in charge of the cloak-room, 
with ten attendants under his orders. 
In addition to this the poor angel was 
obliged to accompany an usher who 
carried around glasses of champagne, 
and to carry around himself a white 
plate full of madeleincs. Alas ! Jean 



APPENDIX. 335 



is severe with his courtiers. When 
the review was over, Antinous-Joseph 
was panting for breath — he had run 
about so much — and Mother Joseph 
Couvelet herself took him into her car- 
riage and drove him home. I hasten 
to explain the matter to you, for I take 
it for granted, O Father Couvelet ! 
that you are as jealous of Mother 
Couvelet as Mother Joseph is of 
Joseph. 

Just as I was about to close this 
letter I learned — O horror! that Jo- 
seph dined yesterday in a restaurant 
an gros-caillou, and was afterward 
picked up from the sidewalk in front 
of the Morgue. 



33 6 APPENDIX. 

Dear Bojidar : 

Will you come with us to skate to- 
morrow at three o'clock ? Ask your 
brother to come also. And afterward 
I will make a visit to your mother, and 
after that the whole party will dine 
with us. 

Marie Bashkirtseff. 



Horrible Bojidar : 

I received your letter on my return 
from Passy, where I remained a fort- 
night. I am very glad to see that you 
still venerate truly great men. Be- 
ware of angling. The other day they 
took a poor madman to Charenton, 
who angled from his stall in the bal- 
cony for a pre?niere. They say he is 
a sculptor. I have not seen either of 



APPENDIX. 337 



the two brothers for a long time. It is 
said that the elder brother is going to 
St. Petersburg to paint the columns of 
the Cathedral of St. Isaac. (They are 
of malachite and consequently green.) 
He is also commissioned by the gov- 
ernment to dye 1,000,000 yards of rib- 
bon for the new decoration of the 
order of agricultural excellence. 

Write to me soon, and beware of 
angling and of sculpture ; they lead in 
the end to madness. 



I write you a line in haste as I have 
just learned that you have been present- 
ed to the baroness ; she is all-powerful 
at the Theatre Italien. Be amiable and 
adroit, and manage to procure us a box. 



33 8 APPENDIX. 



If you do this, I will invite you to dine 

with us when G does. He dined 

here yesterday with his brother, Emile. 
They have a great regard for you, not- 
withstanding all the evil things I say of 
you. Be sure and arrange about the 
box, and write to me immediately 
Success to angling ! 

Marie Bashkirtseff. 

A great many remembrances to 
Agathe. 



Illustrious friend of Sarah : 

If you do not take the trip, so much 
the better for the dogs and so much 
the worse for you. I will hasten my 
return, for I am distressed to think of 
the trouble Prater must give you. If, 
however, by some extraordinary chance 



APPENDIX. 339 



we should not be home at the time of 
the removal of the provisions from $y, 
arrange about the aforesaid removal ; 
all the treasures of the canteen are to 
be transferred to the apartment of Mile. 
Oelnitz — the last one to the right, 
opening on the court. The precious 
paintings and the sumptuous tapes- 
tries, likewise. I should be ashamed to 
trouble you with so many things if I 
did not know that I would do as much 
for you with pleasure. Put the twenty 
francs you mention into the savings 
bank for me ; that will be a little nest- 
egg against my return, and then I will 
be able to lend you some of the cash. 
Many remembrances to Julian, if he 
has returned ; tell him that I have met 
Diaz de Soria and that perhaps I will 
paint his portrait at Madrid ; that is to 



340 APPENDIX. 



say, a sketch only, which I will show 
to him before painting it. Has Tony 
returned ? Good-by. Direct your 
letters to Biarritz ; they will forward 
them to us. 

Your superior in painting, 

Andrey. 



Bojidar : 

Come to-morrow, Wednesday, at 
eleven o'clock. We are going to bap- 
tize Louis Snowball, as he receives his 
first communion on the day after to- 
morrow. The priest discovered that 
he had never been baptized. This 
seems to be an exaggeration, but it is 
the truth. Till to-morrow, then, with- 
out fail. ^ T _ 

Marie Bashkirtseff. 

If you cannot come, telegraph to- 
morrow before one o'clock. 



flco. W. E. Gladstone says in The Nineteenth Century : "It may even 
be pronounced a book without a parallel." 



MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF 

THE JOURNAL OF A YOUNG ARTIST 

"From Childhood to Death!' 

Translated by Mary" J. Serrano, with Appendix de- 
scribing a visit to Mile. Bashkirtseff, by 
Francois Coppee. 

One octavo volume, with Portrait and Illustrations, new 
style of binding, etc. Price, $1.50. 

Paper, 50 Cents. - - Plain Cloth, $1.00. 

Paper, without Portrait or Illustrations, 25 Cents. 

In this Journal, Mile. Bashkirtseff not only writes of herself with per* 
feet frankness, but she is equally frank in speaking of the artists and men 
of letters who were her companions in Paris from 1878 to 1884. With 
such enthusiastic praise as this book has evoked, it cannot fail to attract 
the attention of those who read for instruction, and those who read for 
entertainment only. 

Josephine Lazarus says, in Scribner^s Monthly : "The journal of 
Marie Bashkirtseff is in many ways a unique book — something never 
before attempted, and never to be attempted again. . . . The whole 
book is a monument." 

Helen Zimmern says, in Blackwood 's Magazine : "No one can lay 
down, without emotion, the pages of this diary, in which a human soul has 
voluntarily laid its very inmost fibers bare before us." 

Louise Chandler Moulton says, in The Boston Herald: " For 
once I do not marvel at Mr. Gladstone's enthusiasm. Surely this cry out 
of the grave will make itself heard above most of the other voices of this 
century." 

The Boston Traveller says : ' ' No interpretation or criticism can do the 
faintest justice to this book. It must be read." 



CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY 

101 & 106 Fourth Avenue. New York 



THE ANGLOMANIACS, 

A Story of New York Society To-day. 

By MRS. BURTON HARRISON. 



A. Volume, i2mo, on Extra Fine Laid Paper, Dainty Binding, 
$1.00. Also in " Cassell's Sunshine Series," paper, 50c. 



This is the story that has attracted such wide attention while 
lunning through the Century Magazine. There has been no such 
picture of New York social life painted within the memory of the 
present generation. The satire is as keen as a rapier point, while the 
story itself has its marked pathetic side. Never has the subject of 
Anglomania been so cleverly treated as in these pages, and it is not 
to be wondered at that society is deeply agitated as to the authorship 
of a story which touches it in its most vulnerable part. 

"This delicious satire from the pungent pen of an anonymous writer 
must be read to be appreciated. From the introduction on board the 
Etruria to the final, when the heroine waves adieu to her English Lord, it 
is life, real, true American life, and we blush at the truth of the picture. 
There is 110 line not replete with scathing sarcasm, no character which we 
have not seen and known. . . . Read this book and see human nature ; 
ponder upon what is there written, and while it may not make you wise, it 
certainly will make you think upon what is a great and growing social 
evil." — Norristowji Daily Herald. 

" The heroine is the daughter of an honest money-making old father 
and an ignorant but ambitious mother, whose money has enabled the 
mother and daughter to make their way into the circle of the l Four 
Hundred.' "— N. Y. Herald. 



CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY, 

104 6Y 106 Fourth Avenue, New York. 



029 785M1 A 




